Twisting, Turning, Tumbling
by ShiruyTheSecond
Summary: 100 Themes Challenge Yassen/Alex Style. It's an easy mission, they just need him to provide cover, he won't be in any danger... Yeah, right. As if that had ever been true before. Alex is so sick of this.
1. Introduction

_**Twisting, Turning, Tumbling**_

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Rating: PG

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Spoilers: Up to and including Snakehead.

Summary: Alex had a bad feeling about this.

A/N: I've been having some difficulties with my writing lately - namely, not getting anything done. I've decided to try myself against the 100 Themes Challenge to get the creative juices flowing again. I'm trying for one theme per day, but let's see whether I can keep that up. (I bet I won't make it. XD)

Date: Dec. 29th - 4.30 pm, between _Heaven_ and _Dark_ (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 01.12.10**

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1. _Introduction_

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Alex had a bad feeling about this.

Not that he ever had a good feeling about any of the missions he was forced to go on, but this time it was especially bad. In the briefing Mrs. Jones had given him it had all sounded so straightforward - a German pharmaceutical company with some suspicious ties, a new drug suddenly being sold in the streets of every major city, a big company gala he and his partner were supposed to sneak into.

'Just talk to some of the people and have fun, Alex,' she had said.

'Agent Barner is very experienced, he'll do all the work, you don't have to worry about anything, Alex,' she had said.

'We just need you to serve as cover, you won't be in any danger, Alex,' she had _promised_.

Now, being dragged through the crowds of people by an overenthusiastic young man who was eager to introduce Alex to his father, the teen couldn't help but wonder why he even _tried_ to give Jones the benefit of the doubt anymore. This was going to end badly somehow, he just knew it.

"Father, can I introduce you to this remarkable young man I just met?"

A tall man, maybe around fifty, with short salt-and-pepper hair turned around from the group of people and smiled at them. Behind him, the conversation kept flowing.

"Of course, Simon."

The grip on his shoulder tightened and drew him forward. Alex smiled, allowing himself to pick at the hem of his (ridiculously expensive) Armani shirt. It fit his assumed character to appear a little nervous.

"This is Lloyd Williams, the son of the acting director of the Greyson group, Shaun Williams."

The man's smile widened. Alex's bad feeling got worse.

"Hello, Lloyd. My name is Christian Weller, I'm the chairman of the LC Lux group. It's a pleasure to meet you."

They shook hands and Alex returned the greeting courteously. Besides them, Simon Weller beamed happily and launched into an explanation of how he had gotten to know Alex just an hour ago.

The next fifteen minutes dragged on at snail's pace, filled with small talk, bad jokes and questions about his background. He recounted all the little facts he had learned by rote just last night, sometimes throwing in a detail only the real Lloyd Williams could know, sometimes stuttering and appearing a little shy, because that was the fact most people had heard about Williams' son.

Just when their conversation was drawing to a close and Alex was starting to relax a bit, a man stepped up to them and laid a hand on Mr. Weller's shoulder.

"Sir, there's a..." The voice trailed off, but Alex didn't look up, his gaze transfixed on that hand and his stomach feeling like it had dropped down into his knees. The last time he had seen those carefully manicured fingers they had been weakly grasping at a bloodied chest.

"There's a phone call for you on line 2," the voice picked up again. Flawless English, without the slightest hint of an accent.

"Thank you, Mihailov. I'm sorry, Lloyd, but I have to take that call. It was nice to meet you."

Alex knew that he answered something, but later he couldn't have said what. His eyes stayed fixed on that hand as it slid off the older man's shoulder and came to rest at a slim body's waist. Beside him, Simon was talking again.

"Lloyd, this is Kirill Mihailov, my father's assistant. Kirill, this is Lloyd Williams."

Slowly, oh so slowly, he forced himself to look up, dragging his gaze over the familiar-and-not chest, hoping so _desperately_ that he was wrong, that this was just a coincidence, that he was just paranoid...

There was a dead straight line drawn across the side of the man's neck, a slightly discolored scar. Alex thought he was going to start hyperventilating any second now.

[_They had told him he was dead._]

"Hello, Lloyd."

Dark brown instead of whitish blond. Clear ice blue eyes hidden behind murky brown contact lenses. Dark circles under the eyes and a slightly pinched look. But there were the same sharp cheekbones. The same even, handsome face. The same curved lips, twisted into a welcoming smile.

"It is nice to meet you," Yassen Gregorovich said.


	2. Love

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Spoilers: Up to and including Snakehead.

Summary: Alex Rider isn't quite sure what love is.

Date: No time in particular; before the start of the series (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 29.11.10**

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2. _Love_

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Alex Rider isn't quite sure what love is.

He once thought he knew - was convinced that he did, really. But then again, he was convinced of a lot of things back then.

The good guys are good. The bad guys are bad. Jack will always be there. Alex is a normal kid. Ian works at a bank and is gone often.

[_He loves his nephew._]

But then one cold night in March - a few minutes after three, Alex remembers - two police men rang their doorbell and everything changed.

Slowly, at first - _[no, you can't see the body][no seatbelt, his own fault][funeral tomorrow, the school][a __**gun **__at a funeral?] _- and then faster and faster he started to lose control over his life. There were demands he didn't want to fulfil, questions that no one answered, prices he wasn't prepared to pay - and no way forward but the one they laid out for him.

He learned a lot in the next few months. Is still learning, in fact.

[_Sometimes he would like to forget._]

The good guys are good. They are ruthless, merciless, shameless. They use, they abuse, they manipulate. They force and threaten and blackmail and coerce and _they lielielielie__**lie**_. But still - they are the good guys. They always work towards the greater good.

[_And they will stop at __**nothing **__to get there._]

The bad guys are bad. They are ruthless, merciless, shameless. They use, they abuse, they manipulate. They force and threaten and blackmail and coerce and _they lielielielie__**lie**_. They are selfish and greedy and violent. They have to be stopped.

[_They save your life and die for you._]

Jack is tired. Every time he comes back she's gotten thinner, paler, older. Her eyes are murky with worry and dark with anger. [_What if you don't come back next time?_] She takes care of him, showering him with closeness and affection and normalcy, helps him to regain his feet again and again. [_He repays her with lies and more sleepless nights._] She has done so much. And she is so, so tired.

[_pleasedon'tleavemetoogodpleasedon'tgodon'tgodon'tgo_]

Ever since he told Tom the truth, his [_once_] best friend has been fascinated with the idea of being a spy. He drags Alex into every James Bond movie [_do people really think you can come out of a burning building and look like that?_] and to go paintballing [_he's so, so sick of being shot at_] and to different parks, wanting to learn how to move silently. And so Alex sighs and teaches him and they laugh when Tom trips over a branch which snaps with a loud crack.

[_Has he ever been that innocent?_]

For years and years, Ian was Alex's best friend. They went climbing, canoeing, surfing, hiking, swimming, diving... They spent every free minute together, and if Ian had to be gone for a month then he came back with a present and made it up with a week-long vacation in a new, exciting place. They lived abroad for months at a time, in high-class hotels and small, dirty huts. Ian showed Alex so much, _taught_ him so much - [_pick-pocketing, lying, first aid, driving, picking locks_] - he is very grateful.

[_And so __**very **__angry._]

For years and years, Ian was Alex's best friend. And then Alex found out that the man who played snooker with him, who hated the word 'uncle', who liked classical music and went on long business trips... That man didn't exist at all.

Ian Rider was one of the good guys. [_ruthless, merciless, shameless_] Did he teach Alex all those things simply to help Alex? [_To make him a better weapon?_] How many times did he come close to dying and his nephew never knew? [_Am I speaking to Alex Rider? Ah, yes, your uncle called us, something came up. He'll be home a bit later than expected-_] Hell, did he ever even like classical music?

[_How much of the man Alex knew was a lie?_]

And why had he left Alex to MI6, knowing fully well what kind of world he was pushing his nephew into?

[_the world that had killed Ian and is now sinking its claws into his nephew, dragging him downdowndown_]

Alex Rider isn't quite sure what love is.


	3. Light

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Spoilers: Up to and including Snakehead.

Summary: They _promised _they wouldn't do this anymore.

Date: Dec. 27th - 10.30 pm, between _Seeking Solace_ and _Heaven_ (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 30.11.10**

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3. _Light_

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It's the first time he's ever been accosted by MI6 at night, and he can honestly say that it feels more like a kidnapping than ever. The car he's politely manhandled into has dark tinted windows, the doors don't open once they have snapped shut behind him and the two men in the front seat he can only see through a sheet of what is probably bullet-proof glass. Even through the glass though he notices that the driver is cursing and the one in the passenger seat is hunched over, holding his chest. Alex can't bring himself to feel the slightest bit sorry - they should have known better than to come up on him from behind.

As expected he finds himself in the underground garage of the Royal & General once he is finally let out and he doesn't know what he expected, but there are still at least fifty cars parked there. Does no one here ever go home?

But then he can't think about that anymore because Disgruntled Agent One and Two are coming around and shepherding him into the elevator. He's tempted to make the second one walk funny too, but the only point he'd manage to make is that he is childish and can't control himself. No, he's saving this anger for the people who deserve it. So he allows himself to be dragged along and is not in the slightest surprised when they step out into a familiar, bland hallway on the sixteenth floor.

He expects to be led into room number 1605, Blunt's office, but instead the two guards open the door to 1604. There's no name tag, but when he steps in and sees Mrs. Jones waiting behind her desk he still can't bring himself to feel anything besides a mild sense of annoyance.

They go through the usual spiel of 'How are you Alex?' and 'Are you holding up?' and she even makes the effort and throws in an 'I'm so sorry about what happened.' It still doesn't change the fact that she dragged him here because she wants something from him, and he doesn't need to be a genius to know that he won't be willing to give it.

"So, Alex, how would you like a short vacation? We still owe you a lot and Christmas break isn't over yet, so we-"

"No," he interrupts, because no matter what she says it won't change his mind. He might as well save them both some time.

She stops and stares at him, then takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of her nose. She looks tired, but he can't bring himself to feel sorry for her. He would have preferred finishing his trip to the movies like any normal kid and just gone home and to bed too.

"Please hear me out first, Alex. It's just a three day trip and we only need you for one of those days. The rest of the time you'd be free to-"

"Mrs. Jones, I said 'no'. I don't want anything to do with this." And he says it so firmly that he even almost believes it will change the outcome of this meeting too.

She looks at him, tired and exhausted. "Please, Alex. You won't be in any danger, I promise. Your partner would do all the work. You'd just be there to serve as his cover."

He barely holds back a snort. "Just like I wasn't in any danger when you sent me to Skeleton Key? Two weeks in the sun, that's what you said, wasn't it?"

She gives him another long, silent look and he is starting to feel uncomfortable. Not that he was comfortable before, but now he's getting that trapped mouse feeling that usually signals imminent life threatening situations.

Mrs. Jones sighs again, deep and sorrowful, and gets a peppermint out of a bowl on the corner of her desk.

"I don't want to do this, Alex, but I have my orders and you don't leave me much choice."

It is a fairly ugly bowl, as far as these things go. White china with pink and blue blossoms painted onto it, it has probably been rather expensive. He can't see the appeal.

"As things stand, a man named Ian Rider is employed at Royal&General. For security reasons his nephew's records are sealed. Should Mister Rider quit working for our bank, though, we would see no reason to keep the police and the public out of his family's records anymore. There are some rather questionable things you have done over the last few months, Alex."

They promised they wouldn't do this anymore. They _promised_.

[_And every time they say it he wants to believe it so badly._]

"You are blackmailing me. Again."

She takes another peppermint and pops it into her mouth. In the harsh lighting of her office she looks old all of a sudden.

"Yes. Yes, we are. I don't personally agree with this course of action, but I have been overruled."

As if that makes anything better.

It is his turn to sigh and he leans back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling tiles. The halogen lights blind him, but he can still spot the little hole at the corner of one tile. A camera.

"So that's it? I do a mission for you, I come out of it barely alive, you tell me it was the last time and a few weeks later you call me in again?"

They meet each other's eyes, one looking as unhappy as the other.

"We are only calling you in for jobs that have requirements no one else can meet. You know we wouldn't take such a risk if lives weren't on the line," she tries to explain.

He silently holds her gaze, feeling grim and resigned. They both know that he'll have to give in sooner or later. What other choice does he have, really? He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. "If you keep giving me missions I need some kind of schedule. I've missed too much school already, I'm barely keeping up."

Mrs. Jones looks at him seriously, the corners of her mouth turned down in a slight frown. "Does that mean you are going to work for us?"

He nods wordlessly, unable to bring himself to actually say the words. Considering that her agency has just gotten exactly what it has been after for months, Mrs. Jones looks pretty dissatisfied as well.

"Alright. Then we'll need to work out a schedule, I want you to receive some proper training. But first let's do the contract."

He's about to sign his life away and there is nothing he can do to stop it.


	4. Dark

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Spoilers: Up to and including Snakehead.

Summary: He's not hiding. Really.

Date: Dec. 29th - 4.45 pm, between _Introduction_ and _Break Away _(Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 01.12.10**

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4. _Dark_

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He was standing next to [_or behind, or a little away from_] the buffet table and eating the most delicious dark chocolate mousse ever. He was just standing there, and if he couldn't see the main room [_and no one from the main room could see him, oh god, please don't let him find me_] then that was just coincidence.

He was eating chocolate mousse. _Delicious _dark chocolate mousse.

In no way was he panicking and hiding behind a huge stone pillar.

...and while he was trying denial on for size he could also pretend that he hadn't freaked out, thrown a hasty excuse at Simon Weller and _Kirill_ before promptly fleeing the scene.

It was all just so... They had told him he was _dead_. He could clearly remember asking about Yassen and getting an offhand comment in return that there wasn't anything the medics could have done for him. That it had been too late.

He couldn't get his head around it.

All this time, while that whole Scorpia mess had happened, when that whole thing with Ark Angel had gone down, and then Ash and Australia... all this time, Yassen had been _alive_. And _nobody_ told him. He figured if he weren't so surprised and bewildered he'd be completely furious by now.

Swirling his spoon through the creamy mousse on his plate, he leaned back against the pillar he was hid-_standing_ behind and gave himself a minute of not-thinking. Bad enough that he was here, in Nuremberg in Germany, blackmailed into participating in yet another mission. Bad enough that his partner had vanished off the face of the earth two hours ago without telling Alex _a damned thing_ and still hadn't turned up again. The teen wouldn't be too surprised to find out that he had been caught and killed while snooping or something. More often than not it seemed like Alex was some kind of bad-luck charm for his partners. And for himself too, now that he thought about it.

Bad enough that he had inadvertently gotten himself introduced to the very man they were here to investigate.

No, additionally to all that, he had also somehow found himself face to face with a man he had thought dead. A man whose motivations were as big a mystery to Alex as they had ever been, and who would probably shoot him as soon as pat him on the head. And was it really just coincidence that they had met? How low were the chances of _that _happening?

But then again, Yassen had seemed just as surprised as Alex.

...

Argh! This whole thing just didn't make any _sense_!

Scowling darkly at his now empty plate, he considered simply leaving early and going back to the hotel. His partner would get back on his own and Alex could throw himself into bed and pretend this whole day never happened. Only that it had. It wasn't like he could just forget that the man who had both killed his uncle and tried to save Alex's life wasn't quite as dead as he'd been told. Why _had_ they told him that? He had a right to know the truth! And if Yassen had survived, why wasn't he being held prisoner somewhere or something?

Why was MI6 lying to him about this?

He clenched his hands into fists and took a deep breath. There were too many questions to simply let this go.


	5. Seeking Solace

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Spoilers: Up to and including Snakehead.

Summary: Alex just doesn't get girls.

Date: Dec. 23rd - 2 am, between _Questioning_ and _Light _(Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 30.11.10**

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5. _Seeking Solace_

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It was late at night and even Jack had long since gone to bed when he heard the noise. A shuffling in the hallway, steps on the stairs. A quiet creaking, and then he knew it was Sabina, because Jack always made sure to skip the noisy step when she sneaked downstairs. He debated with himself for a moment, then he got up to follow.

Sabina had been staying with them for three days now. Not for any particular reason, her parents were fine and in the city as well, but it was just easier. There was a free guest room, and Alex and Sabina spent every day together anyway, so on one of the days she had stayed especially late they had simply called her parents and she hadn't gone back to the hotel at all.

It was strange. Spending time with Sabina, going to the movies, or on a bike trip, or just to the park... it all made him feel so normal he sometimes wondered when the other shoe was going to drop. They were just two kids having fun, laughing at rude jokes and talking about whatever. No assassins suddenly jumping out from behind cars. No kidnapping attempts. No conspiracies or plots or grand plans to kill countless people.

It was making him increasingly paranoid.

Now, as he was sneaking down the stairs and towards the kitchen, he contemplated the fact that nothing happening made him more nervous than an attempt to blow up their house would have. No wonder he felt so out of place amongst his peers at school.

Peeking into the kitchen, he was greeted with the sight of Sabina buried halfway in the freezer, obviously searching for something and muttering under her breath. A little bemused, he leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms, waiting for her to notice him.

Suddenly she gave a triumphant "A-ha!" and pulled a tub of chocolate ice cream out. He blinked, feeling even more mystified than before. Was it normal for girls to get sudden mad ice cream cravings at two in the morning?

She fetched herself a spoon, put the tub on the kitchen counter and went to sit down - saw him and screamed.

Alex jumped in surprise and almost would have yelped as well, but then he was already striding forward, whispering urgently, "Hey, it's just me, don't worry. Calm down, okay?"

"Alex!" She hissed under her breath, standing there in the dark room with the spoon clutched in her hand like a weapon. "God, you scared me! Kindly make some noise when you sneak up on people like that!"

He gave her a half-hearted smile and sat down across from the place she had intended for herself. "Sorry. Didn't mean to frighten you."

She waved a hand at him and sat down as well, sighing heavily. "It's just as well that you're here. But why are you anyway? I thought you'd be asleep for sure by now."

He shrugged and cocked his head at her. "I heard you in the hallway. Wanted to check if something's wrong."

She blinked at him for a moment and then shook her head with a little smile. "You're so strange, Alex."

He didn't know how to answer that, and so he just watched as she popped the lid of the tub and started eating ice cream at two in the morning in the middle of winter in the already freezingly cold kitchen. He found it somewhat ironic that she thought he was the strange one.

After a few minutes of companionable silence, in which Sabina consumed an almost awe-inspiring amount of ice cream in an extremely short time, he decided that maybe something _was_ wrong. Besides, his feet were getting cold.

"Sab... what's going on?"

She glanced at him before going back to staring at the ice cream she was rapidly demolishing.

"Alex, tell me something. What exactly am I wearing?"

He blinked at her, seriously confused now. What was she _wearing_? What did that have to do with anything? Humouring her, he leaned over the counter so he could see all of her and nonchalantly described, "Black short-shorts and a tank-top. And?"

She sighed and shot him a kind of sad, frustrated look. "You had to check. I'm running around in my underwear and you had to check."

He frowned, not entirely sure he understood what she was getting at. She was eating ice cream because he refused to be a hormonal idiot and ogle her? ...the hell?

Sabina smiled and shook her head, noticing his confusion. She straightened up and pushed the tub a little to the side. "Lean over for a second, yeah?"

Not thinking much about it and trusting her, he did as she had asked him to and leaned over the counter, supporting himself on his elbows. She leaned over as well and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him an intent look. A second before she did it he knew what she was going to do and so he was only a little surprised when she kissed him, pressing her lips against his. It was soft, cold and tasted like chocolate ice cream. The first time she had kissed him she had thought he had been asleep and the second time had tasted like tears. He thought that this was a definite improvement about the first two times, but he also didn't quite get why the guys at school made such a huge deal about it. He didn't have any delusions about sparks and fireworks, but he still thought it should feel a little more special than, well, getting a goodnight kiss from Jack for example.

After a couple of seconds Sabina let go of him and plopped down into her seat again, grabbing the ice cream tub and pulling it to her. He frowned, half confused and half embarrassed, and slowly sat down as well, desperately searching for words.

"Uh..."

"You didn't feel anything, did you?" She didn't look at him as she used her spoon to carve swirly shapes into the ice cream.

He floundered, finding himself speechless for the first time in quite a while.

She waved him off again. "I didn't think you would. Like it, I mean. I expected this, really." She got another spoonful and sucked on it for a while. "Not that that makes it any easier."

Finally giving up, he shook his head and threw his hands up. He didn't get girls. "What are you even talking about, Sabina?"

She smiled, but it was sad somehow, wistful. "We've been spending every single day of the last two weeks together and you haven't tried to kiss me a single time. I sleep in your house but you don't come visit me in my room at night. I'm sitting here in my frickin' _underwear_ and you don't even notice..." She shook her head. "The one time I like a guy who's younger than me and he's not interested at all. I just have no luck with men."

He awkwardly scratched his head and looked down at the countertop. He _did_ like her, she was pretty much his best friend. She was great fun to hang out with, had a hilarious sense of humour, was pretty and sporty and just... she knew who he was and still didn't care.

But that didn't change the fact that he didn't particularly want to kiss her.

What _was _wrong with him?

A sigh drew his attention back to Sabina. Her smile looked more sincere now. "Don't worry, Alex. At least this way we'll stay friends until we're old and wrinkled - only that I will of course still be beautiful - and meanwhile, I get to eat guilt-free ice cream because it is for consoling-purposes. So, we good?"

He didn't get girls. He really, really didn't.

Giving a helpless little laugh, he nodded and agreed. "Yeah, we're good."

They smiled at each other for a few seconds, then Alex got up to get himself a spoon.


	6. Break Away

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Spoilers: Up to and including Snakehead.

Summary: Alex stared. Yassen stared back. The situation was going nowhere fast.

A/N: Yassen is difficult to write.

Date: Dec. 29th - 5 pm, between _Dark_ and _Drive_ (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 02.12.10**

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6. _Break Away_

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Alex was in a bind.

On the one hand, it would be incredibly stupid and reckless to go searching for Yassen. No matter the kind of relationship the assassin had had with Alex's father, he was still dangerous and ruthless. He hadn't had a problem with leaving the teen to fight off a bull. He hadn't had a problem with subjecting him to Cray's horribly real game.

On the other hand, he did have a problem with shooting Alex. And children in general. He had tried to give Alex a chance to escape, to go home and forget this whole spy business. He had... he had said he was glad that Alex was with him, when he thought he was about to die. And that wasn't a confession anyone made lightly.

And what had that business with sending him to Venice and Scorpia been about? Was that Yassen's last underhanded attempt to kill him or had he been serious? After all, he couldn't honestly believe that Scorpia would take in the son of a trai-

...oh.

Oh god.

Oh _fucking purple squirrel on a stick!_

Yassen didn't know. _Yassen didn't know_. He didn't know that it had all been a setup. He didn't know that Alex's father hadn't really died that day on the bridge.

He _didn't know_ that John Rider had essentially betrayed him.

Alex swallowed. Suddenly he felt much less inclined to face the assassin. He didn't want to tell Yassen the truth, but he also didn't think that the man deserved to believe a lie. He didn't- he had as good as _died_ for Alex, for the son of a man he had loved... for the son of a man who had betrayed him.

And Alex didn't want to let it stand like that. It wasn't fair.

Unsure of what to do, he wandered along the edge of the room towards the huge set of doors leading onto the terrace and down into the garden. The other guests ignored him, just another spoiled little heir wandering around, probably bored with the grown-ups and searching for some entertainment. Needless to say, his thoughts were as far from finding entertainment as they could possibly be right now.

He slipped through the doors, past a guard and into the cool evening air. The sun had almost set, painting the sky and the few clouds a blazing red. It hadn't snowed here in a few days, so the terrace was clear, but he still shivered and slipped his hands into his pockets. He wouldn't be surprised to find out that the temperatures were below the freezing point.

No on else was outside and he walked up to the stone railing and rested his hands on it. He could feel the coldness seeping into his skin and his breath was visible in little clouds of vapour.

He sighed and leaned forwards, supporting himself on his hands. He still didn't know what he was supposed to do. The easiest and most logical course of action was to simply wait the evening out, not confront Yassen, let Barner, the other agent, do his job, and then go home and file this as the one mission he _didn't_ get shot at for once.

Still, it sat wrong with him to not make Yassen aware of what had really happened almost fifteen years ago. If only he could somehow talk to the man and still have preferably at least one ocean between them at the same time. He wasn't particularly eager to find out whether the assassin had a temper or not.

Suddenly he tensed up, something inside him telling him that he was not alone anymore. He hadn't heard anything, but his strange ability to know when he was in danger hadn't mislead him before and it wasn't likely to start now. He took a deep breath, readying himself to spring into action -

A hand clamped down on his shoulder.

He jumped in surprise and started to pivot around on his foot, using his grip on the railing for leverage, but in a lightning fast move his other shoulder was seized as well and he found himself held in an iron grip, trapped between the railing and the body behind him. He tried to twist sideways, only for the large hand to slip down from his shoulder to his right wrist and twist his arm behind his back painfully, making him gasp quietly.

He froze, mind racing. He was well and truly trapped - but then again, he never stood a chance against the man behind him anyway. He hadn't expected their confrontation to sneak up on him quite so soon.

"Did they not teach you that separating yourself from the crowd makes you a target?"

It was strange. He had only heard that voice a few times in his life and still it already felt unbelievably familiar. He swallowed.

"In my case, staying with the crowd just makes the crowd a target."

Yassen sighed and Alex thought it was half exasperation and half amusement. Then the man let go of him and Alex turned around quickly, unwilling to leave his back to the... well, not enemy really, but possibly hostile assassin.

It felt incredibly surreal to look a dead man in the eyes.

And it didn't help that Yassen looked just as cold and stony as the last times they had met. Even when he was about to die - had thought he was about to die, there had been almost no change in his expression. It was a little eery. And impressive. But mostly eery.

"What are you doing here, Alex?"

Direct and to the point, huh? Well, he could do that.

"Attending a party, it seems." Or not. God, what was wrong with him that he couldn't keep his smart remarks to himself for once?

If he hadn't been looking at the other so closely Alex would have missed how the Russian's eyes narrowed for a split second. Instinctively the teen backed away until he was flat against the railing. Note to self: If he survived this evening he'd put some serious effort into thinking before insulting his opponents.

"I'm not here to snoop around or investigate anyone, okay?" he muttered and crossed his arms uncomfortably. It was steadily getting colder out there on the terrace and he was also extremely tense with a man who killed people for a living barely two feet away from him.

"I was under the impression that you had gone back to being a normal school boy after the last time we met," the Russian stated, though the expectant air around him made it more into a demand for answers than anything else.

Alex was torn between laughing hysterically and cursing violently, so instead he concentrated on answering. "I'd have loved to do so, but other parties disagreed. And," he hesitated for a moment, "I was told you died that day. What happened?"

Yassen raised an eyebrow as if in thought, then - and Alex couldn't quite believe he was really seeing that - the corner of his mouth turned up a little. "I got better," he deadpanned.

Alex stared. Yassen stared back. The situation was going nowhere fast.

Finally, the teen sighed. "Look, I need to talk to you."

Once again, the man raised an eyebrow. Alex had to bite back an annoyed growl.

"But not now, okay? It's... there's some stuff you should know and I wanted to ask about-" He paused, swallowed. About his father. With Ash dead, Yassen was the last person alive who had really known his father. "About some other things nobody else can tell me."

This seemed to finally catch the man's attention and he cocked his head to the side lightly. "What if I already know whatever you want to tell me?"

Alex stared blankly at the man and tried to imagine that possibility. Somehow, he thought if that were true then this meeting would have involved a lot more violence. "I'm pretty sure you don't." He bit his lip and carefully scanned the other's face for any hint of what he was thinking, but as always, Yassen presented a perfectly blank facade. The teen felt like throwing his hands up in frustration.

"Please," he ground out, "Is there any way we can talk over the phone or something? Or the internet? It's important."

Finally, the assassin seemed to consider his request. Maybe he had seen how serious Alex was about this. Or he had simply decided that it was too clumsy to be one of MI6's ploys.

For a few long seconds Yassen seemed to seize him up, then he nodded. "I will give you my current number. It is untraceable. After the first of January it will be out of order. You have time to call until then."

He slowly breathed out in relief, the tension in his shoulders relaxing a bit. After this, he and Yassen would be even. He wouldn't owe the assassin for saving his life and Yassen wouldn't feel like he owed the Riders anything either - neither John nor Alex. And maybe... maybe he'd even get to hear a bit about his father.

Alex would have three days. It was the night of the 29th, tomorrow afternoon they'd fly back to England, and then Alex had two days to call Yassen. Two days in which Alex could hand the number over to MI6. Be a good little boy and do what Jones and Blunt would expect of him.

Well, they could forget about that.

"Give me your arm."

He jumped a little and quickly looked back up at the other's face, but aside from an amused glimmer in his dark eyes, the man didn't seem particularly threatening. Confused, Alex glanced down at the hand Yassen held out expectantly - and saw a pen. Oh, okay. The number, right.

Rather hesitantly, he presented the Russian with his right arm and had to stop himself from jumping again when Yassen quickly grabbed his wrist and pushed back the sleeve, exposing his skin to the cool night air. He shivered as he felt the warmth radiating from Yassen's body, goosebumps breaking out over his skin, and stubbornly stared at the pen while the other straightened out his arm and started to write, his surprisingly warm hand completely enclosing Alex' wrist.

It was surreal. Completey stark-raving mad. This whole situation. Getting coerced into yet another mission by MI6. Running into a dead man. _Talking_ to said dead man. And then asking for that man's phone number and getting it written on his arm like they're kids in school crushing on each other. Absolutely crazy. Alex almost started laughing.

Yassen finished writing what looked like a twenty-digit number and released Alex' arm, the warm fingers brushing over the teen's freezing skin forcing another shiver from him. He opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't find any words.

"Wash it off after you have memorized it," Yassen ordered, suddenly several steps away, and Alex nodded silently.

He watched as the man left, still rooted to his spot by the railing.


	7. Heaven

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Spoilers: Up to and including Snakehead.

Summary: Once again, Alex has to put up with stupid people being stupid.

Author's Notes: So this was kind of fun to write. It took forever though until I came up with something fitting for the theme.

Date: Dec. 28th - 9 am (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 30.11.10**

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7. _Heaven_

* * *

Alfred Barner was a serious kind of man. He wore an expensive black suit, had a severe expression on his face, and didn't believe in small talk.

Apparently, he also didn't believe in teenaged spies.

Alex sighed quietly and sunk lower into his window seat. The man next to him had only talked to him when he absolutely had to during their drive to the airport and their boarding of the plane. Now, half an hour after takeoff, he was still studiously ignoring Alex and doing his utmost to look like he was completely absorbed in his paper.

It was starting to piss the teen off.

Barner's behaviour reminded him of Belinda Troy, the CIA agent he had worked with during the Skeleton Key mission, but at least she had talked to him. This man seemed to hope that if he just didn't acknowledge Alex' existence for long enough he would simply go away.

As if that was going to happen.

It wasn't as if he was all that eager to do this job, but hell, that didn't mean that he was going to screw it all up the second they stepped off the plane. He was still alive after all, wasn't he? The same couldn't be said for a lot of other people he had worked with, unfortunately. So it was kind of insulting that he had to put up with this kind of attitude from someone who was supposed to be a professional yet again.

He stared out of the window at the sea of clouds below them, looking like giant marshmallow mountains. They reminded him of a few of those paintings he had seen in the museums Jack had dragged him to over the years. Angels frolicking among the clouds, big pearly gates and some random guy that apparently represented God.

Alex snorted quietly. That was not what death was like. At least he didn't think so. In his experience, death was cold and dark and strangely silent. Feeling weak all over, as if all your strength is flowing out of you, and you can't breath anymore but it doesn't really hurt, and then it gets hard to think and you feel so, so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of living. Tired of making any damn effort to get up yet again.

And he _had _given up, those scant few months ago.

He crossed his arms to hide his shaking hands and turned to Barner. "Are you actually going to talk to me during this mission or are we going to continue pretending that we have nothing to do with each other?"

The agent finally looked away from his paper and gave him a sharp look. "You are to be part of my cover tomorrow. You will mingle with the other guests, behave according to your assumed persona and then we will fly home again two days from now. Excess interaction between us is not necessary."

For a moment Alex just stared, speechless in the face of such condescension. Then he took a deep breath, nodded cooly, and leaned back into his seat, staring straight ahead. And if anyone asked, he most emphatically did not mutter "Stuck-up bastard!" under his breath either.

He couldn't wait for this mission to be over.


	8. Innocence

Rating: M

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Warnings: Blood. Death. Disturbing imagery. Please don't read if you get squeamish about any of those things easily.

Summary: He gave himself a moment to think that it would have been so, _so _nice if for once everything had just went according to plan.

Date: Dec. 30th - 3 am, between _Silence_ and _Memory_ (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 08.12.10**

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8. _Innocence_

_

* * *

_

Alex Rider was slowly making his way up the stairs, his cold, stiff hands buried in his pockets. He could have taken the elevator, but every minute he could avoid facing Barner again was a minute well spent, and their suite was only on the third floor anyway.

Part of him was still angry, but mostly he was just frustrated and resigned. He thought about the contract he had signed, the training Mrs. Jones wanted to put him through. He'd meet other agents or agents-to-be there. Would they all treat him like Barner? Like a stupid kid playing games, somehow using his daddy's influence to get into these training sessions? What a thing to look forward to.

If he could have he would have stayed out all night, but while he did somewhat know the city since he had been here with Ian before - and wasn't that just cruel irony? - it was below freezing outside and in his haste to leave their suite he had only grabbed one of their nearly identical MI6-issue coats, which then, to top it all off, had turned out to be Barner's. By now it was nearly three o'clock in the morning and while he had changed out of the fine clothes he had to wear for the gala into something warmer and considerably more comfortable, with only a coat he felt frozen solid after wandering about the town for a little more than three hours.

He climbed up the stairs and stopped in front of the glass door leading into the hotel corridor their suite was located on, sighing deeply. If he was lucky, Barner had already gone to sleep. He didn't want to face the man. He didn't want to fight with him again. He didn't want to feel like he had to explain anything about his life or about how he had gotten involved with MI6 or even about Ian. These were private things, and Barner had no right to demand answers from him.

Steeling his resolve to not let that prick get to him again he opened the door with his keycard and quietly slipped down the hallway, making no noise on the thick carpet. They were in one of the upper scale hotels in the city center as befitting of their cover, for which Alex was rather grateful. He didn't want to imagine having to return to a cold or barely heated ratty hotel room after this whole thing.

Pondering about his recent experience with sleeping in roach-invested rooms and dealing with the rather hysteria-inducing sensation of having giant rats climb all over him, he wandered down the corridor, not really paying attention-

Until his feet suddenly stopped dead.

With a start he looked up, his senses jumping into overdrive as he took in every tiny detail of the hallway. It was well-lit, the walls a neutral cream colour, all of the doors closed and there were no visible marks on the blue carpet. And still he was absolutely sure that something was wrong.

Moving forward cautiously, he stopped when he reached the door to suite number fourteen and slowly looked around again. Nothing seemed out of place. The decorative plants hadn't been moved, none of the door knobs appeared scuffed as they would have been had someone attempted to break in, the cameras placed at regular intervals were...

The cameras. They hadn't changed position once since he had entered the hallway. They weren't doing their usual sweeps. Someone had frozen them.

For a few long seconds he simply stood there, mind racing.

There were three scenarios that were the most likely. Number one, it was a simple technical failure and the hotel would get it fixed in the morning. Number two, the security officer responsible for watching the cameras had intentionally frozen the cameras, which meant that there had to be some - most likely to Alex detrimental - reason for it. Number three, someone had hacked the cameras and fed them a loop, which meant that the security officer thought that nothing was amiss.

Whatever it was, he had to warn Barner. They would be better off leaving the hotel as quickly as possible, even if it was slightly paranoid. Better crazy than dead.

Searching through the coat pockets, he got out the key card to their room and went to swipe it through the scanner, but then he noticed that it wasn't the right card at all. He blinked in surprise and took a closer look at it; it was white just like the hotel's card, but aside from a small eight-digit number on the front and the magnetic stripe on the back there was nothing on it to mark its purpose. Frowning, he put it into the inner pocket of his jeans, got out the real room card and opened the door.

The second he entered it became glaringly obvious that whatever had happened, it was already over.

The living room had been ransacked, and it wasn't hard to imagine that the same had happened to their rooms with both the doors thrown wide open. For a moment he just stood there and took in the methodical destruction of every single object in the room. Then he gave himself a mental shake and concentrated on what was really important.

A quick glance into their rooms showed that Barner wasn't in either room and he quietly allowed himself to begin hoping. Maybe the agent had escaped. Or maybe he hadn't been here either. Maybe he had followed Alex and was still outside somewhere, searching for the teen. It was possible, wasn't it?

Then he noticed that while the door to his adjacent bathroom was open, Barner's was closed.

Dread settled into him like a heavy weight. Slowly and reluctantly, he walked over and noticed the sound of the shower running. If anything, it made him feel even worse.

He gave himself a moment to think that it would have been so, so nice if for once everything had just went according to plan. Then he decisively opened the door and stepped into the room.

Directly into a puddle of blood.

For several long seconds he was completely frozen, his eyes fixed on an arching red spatter on the opposite wall. Then he slowly, very, very slowly, took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The air inside the room was thick, steamy and was heavy with the smell of sweet copper. His stomach clenched.

Why couldn't he just have a normal mission for once? Why couldn't he just... not have to face this? Why couldn't he be home right now, safe and warm in his own bed with Jack just two rooms over? Had he done anything to deserve this? Or was there some kind of bored deity up there somewhere thinking 'Oh well, that kid is so fucked up already anyway, no use in getting some other innocent little boy and corrupting _his_ sanity'?

He opened his eyes and took in the room. The shower was running and the sliding doors weren't closed, which meant that half the bathroom was covered in a light spray of water. The other half of the bathroom was covered in one large puddle of blood, originating from Barner's slit throat. The man was lying on his side halfway between the shower stall and the door. It looked like he had been crawling forward, trying to reach help.

Alex took slow, shallow breaths through his mouth and stepped further into the room. It had been ransacked just as thoroughly as the others, but unfortunately he couldn't see any bloody fingerprints anywhere. Either they had been very careful when they had slit Barner's throat or they had been wearing gloves. Crouching down next to the naked body, he placed his fingers on the man's pulse points, knowing already that it was useless. Barner was as dead as someone could possibly be.

It did tell him something else though. The body was still warm, around room temperature, but that could be explained away with the hot, steamy air in here. A quick - and very, very, _very_ reluctant - check of the eyelids confirmed it though. Despite the noticeably higher than average temperature, rigor mortis hadn't even started to set in yet. Which meant that Barner had been dead for about an hour at most.

Alex had probably just missed whoever had done this.

His hands were shaking when he stood up and he had to swallow several times to keep from throwing up. Very determinedly not paying attention to the blood-splattered walls, he located a small towel, snatched it from the rail and walked back to the door sill. There, he methodically first cleaned the sole of his left shoe before placing it outside on the carpet, then he did the same with the right. Later on, he would throw the towel away in some random dumpster.

If he left any bloody footprints and the people who had done this came back they would immediately know that he'd been here.

Once again closing the bathroom door behind him, he walked back into his room and checked if any of his stuff could still be useful. He found a rather big black hoodie which he quickly pulled on over the comparatively thin long-sleeved shirt he had been wearing before. His MI6 issued phone was smashed to bits, so that rendered calling in for help impossible. At least he still had his own phone on him. The only other marginally useful thing he could find were fingerless gloves, which he swiftly pulled on as well. He still had his wallet with enough money and his false passport in his back pocket.

That done, he gave all the rooms another once-over. Whoever had done this [_Weller?_], they had obviously been searching for something and judging by the state of the rooms, they hadn't found it. Alex didn't intend to still be here when they inevitably came back.

He shrugged the [_dead man's_] coat back on and left.


	9. Drive

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Spoilers: Up to and including Snakehead.

Summary: Driving at night is boring. Luckily Alex has something to distract himself with.

Date: Dec. 29th - 10 pm, between _Break Away_ and _Silence_ (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 02.12.10**

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9. _Drive_

* * *

Driving at night was usually rather boring, what with there being nothing to look at. Driving at night in a limousine with smoked windows and a companion about as talkative as a rock was therefore fast approaching _mind-numbingly dull_. Alex stared at the sleek silver of the door's lever and pretended not to notice Barner's self-satisfied expression.

He had thought the man's perpetually stony look was annoying; now he learned that it had nothing on his smug oh-yeah-I'm-so-awesome one.

Almost five excruciatingly long and awkward hours after Yassen had left him on the terrace, Barner had suddenly turned up again, playing his role of the concerned father who had to get his young son to bed. Alex had grudgingly played his part as well and soon they were out of there, on the way back to their hotel.

He had asked Barner whether he had been successful the second the soundproof doors of their limousine had shut behind them, but the only answer he got was that it was none of his business.

Alex didn't agree with that – at all – but for now he bit his tongue and kept quiet, deciding that pushing could result in nothing good right now. He would wait until they reached the hotel and both had settled a bit before trying to get at least a little bit out of the agent. And if he still didn't want to tell Alex anything, well, the teen was rather good at snooping around, as proven in the past.

For now though, all he could do was stare at the door lever and resist the urge to say something extremely snarky and childish. He was tired, exhausted and fed up with Barner's attitude. And finding out that Yassen was alive hadn't helped in the slightest.

The number written on his arm was practically burning through his skin, but he was more than a little leery of looking at it with Barner right next to him. He would rather not make one of the world's most dangerous assassins think that he had betrayed him, thank you very much. On the other hand, though...

He glanced at Barner out of the corner of his eye.

The man was ignoring him, blindly staring straight ahead and mentally probably somewhere far, far away. Chances were he wouldn't even notice if Alex took a look at the number.

He argued with himself for a few more minutes, but in the end his boredom won out. After making sure that Barner really wasn't paying him the slightest bit of attention by making a face at him and getting no reaction, he pushed the sleeves of his coat and fine jacket back, revealing a row of small black numbers. They were running neatly down the inside of his arm and stopping just short of the ring of pale scars all around both his wrists. He had been hand-cuffed several times over the course of this last year and he could only hope that the traces of his struggles would fade with time. He wondered whether Yassen had noticed them.

The number itself was made up of twenty-two digits that seemed to have no particular order to them. It was simply a string of random numbers with no area or network code recognizable. But then again, Yassen _had _said that the cell phone he used was untraceable.

He silently mouthed the number, lightly letting his fingers trail over the black marks, and then shivered as he remembered Yassen doing the same. The whole scene had been oddly... intimate, the way the assassin had invaded his personal space. The more he thought about it the more awkward it seemed to get.

Not that it had been awkward-_bad _– which really only made the whole thing even stranger – but Alex still felt rather blindsided by this hyperawareness of everything Yassen that had befallen him the moment the assassin had stepped into his personal space. It was just... _really_... strange.

"What's that on your arm?"

He jumped in surprise and hastily pushed the sleeve back down, knowing even while he was doing it that the action was suspicious. Of course Barner would only pay him any attention when Alex didn't want him to.

"I met this girl at the party. Julia. She gave me her number."

Anyone who knew him would have instantly recognized that as a blatant lie, but Barner...

The man gave a disgusted snort, sneered at Alex and then turned away, obviously finding all his prejudices about stupid, careless teenagers validated.

Alex didn't feel inclined to correct him just then.


	10. Breathe Again

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Warnings: Angst

Summary: There's something peculiarly peaceful about drowning.

Date: No time in particular; before the start of the series (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 30.11.10**

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10. _Breathe Again_

* * *

There's something peculiarly peaceful about drowning. Not the process of running out of air, no – these few minutes alone down in the shipwreck were amongst the most terrifying of Alex' life. But actually drowning, feeling everything go dark and lightly floating in the water... it wasn't the worst way to go, really.

He still vividly remembered how he felt after he had been buried beneath the Cribber, a giant wave he had tried to surf on the Cornish coast. Peaceful, weightless, a little resigned. And so relieved. Not exactly happy, but accepting of the fact that the sea was going to be his grave.

If Sabina hadn't fished him out and resuscitated him he would have died that day. Or rather, he would have stayed dead.

Sometimes, when the nights got long and he couldn't sleep yet again, he wondered if that made him suicidal. After all, if it weren't for Sabina, he would have accepted his death that day. If it hadn't been for other people, he would have accepted his death several times already. It was strange... He liked living and every time he found himself in yet another dangerous situation he did everything he could to dodge death just one more time.

And still he couldn't deny that every now and then he missed that feeling of peace and finally being allowed to give up that being on death's doorstep gave him.

God, by now he probably was every psychologist's wet dream with all the issues and traumas he had accumulated over the last year alone. Then again, his life had become so ridiculously unbelievable since last March that they would most likely just put him in one of those nice comfy white jackets and try to treat him for hallucinations. He never even told Jack, Tom or Sabina the full extent of what went on during his missions, for fear that they wouldn't believe him. Maybe it was selfish, but he didn't want to put his trust in anyone only to get disappointed again.

[_Ash's betrayal still was a fresh wound that hadn't even started to scab over yet_.]

It would be nice to have someone who knew everything about him and believed him, of course, but he knew that none of the people he knew could be that person.

He trusted Jack, she would never betray him, but every time he told her even a little bit she would either start questioning him, doubting what he told her, or she would get angry at MI6 and start yet another rant against the organization. Not that he couldn't understand her feelings, but her helpless anger didn't help him either, and so he just kept what he told her to the bare facts.

Tom... Tom was a child. He knew it was unfair to think that, because a few months ago he hadn't been all that different from his best friend. But while Tom had said that he wouldn't really want to be a spy and be put into the situations Alex had been, at the same time it was obvious that he thought what Alex did was amazing and cool. A game. An _adventure._ Alex wasn't sure whether he didn't want to disillusion his friend or whether he was afraid Tom wouldn't take him seriously. Either way, he couldn't tell him.

The reason why he didn't tell Sabina was simple. He had done so before, twice, and both times she hadn't believed him. It had taken her getting kidnapped before she finally took him seriously, and that had come at the cost of losing her as a friend. That she had turned up again over Christmas had been a wonderful surprise, but the days he spent with her only brought home the fact that she was not a part of his world. She was a great friend and he loved spending time with her, all the stuff they did making him feel perfectly normal.

And that was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? She was normal. She belonged in a normal world. And Alex didn't. Not anymore, if he had ever. It made bridging the gap between them seem impossible at times, and... he wasn't willing to try anymore.

It made him wonder if he would ever be again.


	11. Memory

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Summary: "You are not going to fall asleep. Understood?"

Date: Dec. 30th - 3.30 am, between _Innocence_ and _Smile _(Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 08.12.10 **

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11. _Memory_

* * *

When he was eight, Ian had taken Alex to Germany for five months. The first week they had spent in Munich and Alex hadn't seen much of the city. The next two weeks they had been in Berlin and Ian had three free days which he used to tour the city with his nephew. The rest of the time they had spent in Nuremberg.

They had moved into a small flat in the city and Alex had to go to a German school. He didn't like it much, but since Ian only ever talked German with him even at home, Alex made sure to learn the language as soon as he could.

Ian had had to work a lot and was gone often but on his few off days he had taken Alex all around the city, teaching him little tricks to remember the way back to their home, the way between two coffee shops, his way to wherever he wanted to go... He had gotten to know a lot of back alleys and shortcuts that tourists and shoppers generally kept away from on these occasions.

Now he used that knowledge to outrun his pursuers.

He had picked them up minutes after leaving the hotel. At first it had only been one guy, tall and large and dressed in dark clothes. He had been suspicious-looking from the moment he had stepped out of a side alley, and when a second man of similar build started coming Alex's way from up ahead it had been more than obvious what they were trying to do.

Alex had waited until he reached the shadow of the corner of a building, then he slipped into a side street and started running. A few second later, the men started running after him, and they were fast.

The railway station was a good ways off, and on the other side of a river to boot, but he knew that if he could reach it he could escape these men. It was his only chance, and really, after what they had done to Barner [_don'tthinkaboutitdon'tthinkaboutit_] he would rather avoid his pursuers, thank you very much.

Their hotel had been close to the castle and now Alex steered his way towards the main market, hoping to cross the huge bridge close-by the square. If there still were any people outside then they'd be there, on the main streets, and the two goons wouldn't dare capture him with witnesses around.

He used his knowledge about the area to cut corners and his size to squeeze through tight places like closely parked cars to force the goons to take the long way around. It worked, in that his head start grew and one of the men fell behind, but the second one kept following him like a shark that had smelled blood.

He reached the main square from one of the smaller side streets and raced across it, dodging between closed down booths; his panting breath was incredibly loud in his ears. Sweat ran down his face and stuck his clothes to his back, but the night air was freezing and he had to be careful not to put his feet on one of the almost invisible sheets of ice everywhere.

Unfortunately he wasn't used to running on cobbled streets and when he raced around a corner he lost his footing and fell. He hit the ground hard, but it saved his life.

A bullet exploded against the corner he had just turner, raining plaster down on him. The next second he was up on his feet again, running up a slight hill now, _and why weren't there any people here? _

His knee must've pulsed with pain from the fall and his wrists should've hurt form catching himself, but those sensations vanished in the adrenaline-induced haze clouding and yet sharpening his senses. They'd hurt later, if he survived that long.

Cresting the hill and past a huge fountain, another shot exploded into the night. If he was lucky someone had heard that and alerted the police.

His side was starting to ache, his breaths coming in shorter and shorter gasps, and his pursuers were catching up again. If only he could reach the main streets at least, there would be cars for sure. There _had_ to be.

He ran out onto the large cobblestone bridge spanning the river [_"It's called the Fleischerbrücke, Alex." - "Butcher's Bridge? Strange name."_] and another shot hit next to his foot, sparks flying through the air for a split second. A shadow stepped out into the streetlight at the other end of the bridge and there was a shout from behind him.

"Knall ihn ab!" [_"Shoot him!"_]

Without thinking, he veered to the right. He could feel the bullet whizzing past behind him and absurdly thought that this time, he had at least managed to avoid hitting the floor. Then he reached the banister and vaulted over it [_ohmygodfuckwhatamI__**doing**_], nothing but cold water beneath him. He had a split second to panic, then a line of white-hot fire was drawn across his shoulder.

His jump became an uncontrolled fall, he screamed-

The freezing water hit him like a punch to the gut.

All his muscles locked up and for four precious seconds he simply hung suspended in the black water, time standing still. Then a bullet hit the surface next to him and he moved, frantically swimming against the slight current. He had no air, he couldn't _see_, but he couldn't go up just yet either. His limbs hurt, the cold invading his body with painful stings, and it was sapping his strength with alarming speed. His lungs hurt, his clothes tried to drag him down, the darkness became absolute-

He broke the surface with a gasp, hidden in the shadows beneath the bridge.

Alex couldn't hear over the sound of his own blood rushing through his veins and breathing was both wonderful and painful. The river was trying to drag him both down and back into the streetlight, so he shrugged off his heavy coat and let it float away. Almost immediately, it was hit by several bullets.

He tried to swim, but it was made difficult by the fact that he was losing all feeling in his hands and feet. The cold. If he couldn't get out of here it'd kill him.

He kept swimming, further under the large bridge and into absolute blackness, swallowing water again and again as he fought not to sink. Now his legs were going numb too and he felt weak, the coldness working against him. He had to get out of the water. He couldn't have escaped these bastards just to drown here now.

Downriver there was a bank where he could crawl out, but he couldn't risk it yet. The men were probably still waiting. The problem was that he _couldn't _wait, he couldn't even see down here-

His fingers touched something cold and slimy and he flinched back, going under and swallowing water again. He came up coughing and gasping for air. A quick look around showed that he had simply reached the side of the bridge. In the absolute darkness down here he had lost all sense of direction for a moment. He felt along the [_cold, slimy, ugh_] stone wall, hoping for something, anything, to drag himself out of the water, or to hold on to...

The current was dragging him back the few metres he had swam and his thoughts became foggy with panic and exhaustion, his hands scrabbling uselessly for something to grab. He went under again, deeper this time, and his legs wouldn't obey him, he was going to freezedrown_die_-

His shoulder exploded in pain as he hit a pillar. It was probably there to support the bridge, or maybe to moore a boat to it, but Alex didn't care either way. With the last of his strength he dragged himself out of the river and onto the low stone square just barely above the water level. He would have laughed in relief if his teeth hadn't been chattering uncontrollably and his breath hadn't come in painful gasps, his body already starting to go into shock.

It was still cold, the temperature out here below freezing and he was soaking wet, but at least he was out of the water. He was still going to die most likely, but that was okay. He could live with [_haha_] freezing to death, but he was so, so sick of drowning. No, he would rather freeze to death crouching here beneath a bridge on a random stone pillar like some deranged gargoyle than drown yet again.

[_He had the pesky habit of surviving that, again and again and again..._]

Alex was shaking violently and all feeling had left his feet up to his knees. At least he could still move his fingers a little. Probably not for long, though.

Maybe he could find something to hold onto to float out of here, just until he reached the riverbank. If he was lucky then he'd still have enough strength to drag himself out of the water. And if he was _really_ lucky maybe he wouldn't even be shot dead the second he left the shadow of the bridge.

He huddled himself into a tighter crouch, his thighs pressing against his chest, and wondered how long it took to die of hypothermia.

He rubbed his stiff hands against his legs, hoping to get a little warmth back, but especially on his right his leg felt hard and numb. Kind of square, really.

His phone.

It had been given to him by Smithers, hence it should have survived his plunge into the river. Hope flared up inside of him and he shakily forced himself to stand up on the slick stone. It was difficult to get his fingers into the pocket of his soaked jeans and even more difficult to grasp the slim phone.

Somehow though, he managed, and he could have cried with relief when he finally held his cell in his numb, aching, trembling fingers.

He'd survive. Somehow, he _would_.

The teen wavered on his perch and sank back down into a crouch before his weak legs could give out beneath him. A gust of wind blew by and his whole body was wracked by shivers; for a few seconds it was all he could do not to let himself fall back down into the black water and be done with it. He was _so_ cold.

But no. Didn't he just decide that there'd be no more drowning? Besides, it was entirely ridiculous to die here in winter, underneath some lousy bridge just because he couldn't swim twenty-five metres. He had survived plane crashes, atomic bombs, assassins and even assassins _in space_. Dying underneath a bridge was simply out of the question.

The screen lit up when he flipped the phone open and a ghostly green light lit the area, though the water stayed pitch black. It looked like a malevolent current of thick oil, breathing death and coldness at him.

His fingers' trembling had gotten so bad that he hit the four instead of the one. He had intended to call the police, or maybe the hospital - either way, these numbers were all something with one, zero, and three digits long in Germany.

Now, though, he hesitated.

Yassen's number started with a four. The Russian was still here in Nuremberg. And judging from past experiences, the police probably wouldn't believe him, and if they did, their arrival would just tell whoever had hunted Alex that the teen was still alive.

He had memorized Yassen's number on the ride back to the hotel. Now he dialed it.

It took him three attempts and by the third time he was close to tears again. His hands hurt, _everything_ hurt, and he was so, _so_ cold. He knew the number, he _knew_ it, but his hands just wouldn't obey him.

At long last he thought he got the long number right and he pressed the phone tightly up against his ear, afraid that it would slip out of his trembling fingers and vanish into the freezing river around him if he wasn't careful.

He got a long dial tone and then he waited for Yassen to accept the call. And waited. And _waited_.

Oh god. What if the Russian was asleep? What if he was in another room and didn't hear the phone? Or if Alex had gotten the number wrong? He didn't think he'd be able to dial again. His fingers had stopped shaking and instead had gone numb and greenish-white, illuminated as they were by his cell's light. No, this was his last call. And maybe the one wrong decision that would finally kill him.

"F-fuck," a rasping whisper, barely audible over his panicked panting.

Then the call was accepted.

His breath stopped short - he noticed that he was close to hyperventilating - and for a moment he found himself unable to think of a single thing to say.

"Yes?"

Yassen was as calm and composed as ever, the deep, slightly rough voice damping down Alex' panic like a thick blanket suffocating a fire. His breath rushed out of him in a huge sigh, almost a sob, and his voice came out as nothing more than a near-soundless whisper.

"Yassen."

There was a beat of silence, then a clearly surprised, "Alex?"

He nodded and smiled for no reason at all. "Y-yeah." Damn, he just couldn't get his teeth to stop chattering. His jaw hurt. "C-can you d-do me a, a fa-vour? Please?"

The silence was longer this time and Alex felt the panic creeping up on his fragile calm once more. What if the Russian simply hung up? He didn't owe Alex anything. There was no reason why he would want to help the teen. Why hadn't Alex thought of that before?

"What do you need?"

This time his relief was so intense that the world wavered around him - oh, wait, no. That was his own body teetering dangerously, threatening to give out on him. He braced himself more securely against the wall at his back, breathing harshly.

"Alex?"

Oh, right. Yassen.

"Ss-sor-ry. C-can, can you, come ff-fetch me, p-plea-se? I ca-can't...I nee-ed hhelp."

"Where are you? Are you hurt?"

Huh. Yassen's voice was kinda nice. All rough and focused and deep. Alex found that he really liked it.

"Alex!"

He jumped in surprise at the harsh bark and almost fell off the pillar again. His head felt strangely muzzy. A side effect of the cold? Or from the blood loss? He'd gotten clipped by a bullet, hadn't he?

What was the question again? Oh, right.

"Unn-der-neath the Fleisch-er-brr-brücke. Th-the Butch-cher's Bridge. You knn-ow it?"

"Yes. What happened?"

He wished Yassen would save his questions for later. "G-got shhot at. Had'o, t'jump off. Th' wa-ter's c-c-cold."

Was it just him or was his speech getting more and more slurred? That was bad, right?

"I'll be there shortly. Don't fall asleep."

No falling asleep, okay. And no falling into the water, either. And no freezing to death would be good, too.

"Alex?"

What? Was he supposed to have answered? He blinked blearily, black dots dancing in his vision.

"Hmm-mmh?"

"You are not going to fall asleep. Understood?"

For a moment he had no idea what Yassen was talking about and simply marvelled at the utter strictness of the man's voice. It reminded Alex of a police officer telling some stupid bystander to step away from the open high voltage line slowly, please, _now_. Then his brain caught up again and he nodded.

"Y-yeah. 'kay."

There was the sound of a car door being shut forcefully. "I'll be there soon."

Yassen ended the call.

Alex tried not to close his eyes.


	12. Insanity

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Summary: "A strange expression flitted across the assassin's face and it took Alex a moment to figure out that it was amusement. Unfortunately, understanding didn't make the situation any less bizarre in this case."

Author's Notes: A time jump and some Yassen-Alex interaction. Always pay attention to the dates.

Date: Jan. 1st - 5.20 am, between _Smile _and _Blood_ (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 14.12.10**

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12. _Insanity_

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His head was all fuzzy, refusing to form a single straight-forward thought, but that was okay for now. His body was heavy and exhausted anyway, unwilling to let itself be moved, and he was comfortably warm. If he was in trouble for once looking for a way to escape could wait a couple more hours.

He rolled from his side onto his stomach and snuggled deeper into the covers, relishing in the warmth and softness. There was no way this was a hospital - which, lately, was one of the first things he checked for when he woke up and didn't know where he was - because the bed was way too comfortable, the blanket too thick and it smelled nice, like some kind of musky aftershave or something.

He was avoiding both opening his eyes and thinking about why he was there by taking deep, measured breaths, attempting to figure out what about the smell he liked, when a door opened and someone entered the room. Alex hadn't made a sound, he was sure that not even his breathing had changed, and still the person suddenly changed directions mid-step and instead of going somewhere to the right they approached the bed. Alex hoped he wasn't about to be shot in his pretend-sleep.

"Good morning."

The teen's eyes shot open and he stared up at the man standing next to the bed. Immediately, everything came flooding back. The mission. The hunt. Yassen.

[_Barner_.]

He said the first thing he could think of.

"It's dark outside."

A strange expression flitted across the assassin's face and it took Alex a moment to figure out that it was amusement. Unfortunately, understanding didn't make the situation any less bizarre in this case.

"Nonetheless it is morning. How are you feeling?"

"Okay, I guess." His voice sounded like someone had stuffed sandpaper down his throat. "Can I have a glass of water?"

Yassen nodded as if he hadn't expected anything else and turned to walk away.

More than a little bemused now, Alex rolled back onto his back and pushed himself upright with his left hand. Several so far unnoticed bruises protested the move, but the worst really was the straight line of persistent burning drawn across his shoulder blade. He had had unbelievable luck dodging that bullet.

He wondered what he must look like now, with two dead straight scars drawn across both his shoulders. But then, he was so scarred up by now that it probably wouldn't stand out too much anyway. And while the new wound hurt, the old one on the other side was more memorable by far. It had been given to him by his own copy, after all.

He heard water running in the next room over and the next moment Yassen came back, carrying a glass of water. Alex swallowed dryly, his throat feeling even more parched at the sight.

The Russian offered him the glass silently and Alex took it, emptying it in a few large gulps. When he looked up again the man was staring at him.

The teen froze, unsure how to react to such close scrutiny. He started in surprise when the assassin sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Your fever has gone down a lot."

Considering how woozy and out of it he still felt Alex felt very tempted to ask 'Compared to what?' But Yassen was already continuing.

"You have been in and out of it for a little more than two days. You had a case of moderate hypothermia that led to you developing a fever. You should be back to full health in approximately a week," the man explained.

The teen blinked... and blinked again. He was overwhelmed both by the fact that _two whole days_ had passed, as well as the fact that he hadn't ever heard the Russian talk so much before. And that Alex owed him his life several times over didn't help the situation any either.

"I..." He hesitated, unsure where to even start. "Thank you. For helping me." The young spy couldn't imagine why Yassen had done it. For that matter, he had no idea anymore why he had decided to call the man. What the hell had he been thinking?

He wasn't sure what kind of reaction he had expected - probably none at all - but he definitely wasn't prepared for the assassin's lips to quirk into a small smile.

"You have thanked me before, but considering your condition, it is no surprise that you do not remember."

Alex looked down, feeling strangely flustered. This was awkward.

"Uh, right. Then I'll just..." He wanted to say '_go'_, but to be honest, he was exhausted, didn't know where he was, had no idea how to reach MI6 and it was possible that Weller's men were still searching for him. Hell, he didn't even know where his own clothes were! Right now he was wearing boxers and a t-shirt that were both too big on him and he was so, _**so**_ sick of other people undressing him while he was unconscious. Though it had most likely been necessary to save him from freezing to death.

The teen was grateful that Yassen didn't comment on the lost expression that momentarily appeared on his face before he could lock it down again.

"Then you'll just rest for now. You are not recovered."

Alex nodded and carefully laid down again, avoiding meeting the Russian's calm gaze. He was grateful for not having to think of a course of action himself for once but at the same time kind of annoyed that Yassen just went ahead and told him what to do. How was he supposed to handle this? Yassen wasn't his enemy anymore, but the young spy wasn't sure how else to deal with the assassin. It wasn't like they were friends or even just allies, was it?

The man shifted his weight and the teen's eyes automatically snapped back to him, permanent suspicion drilled into him by his experiences making him react.

"Do Weller's men have a reason to keep coming after you?" the Russian asked.

If only the young spy knew that himself. He shrugged tiredly. "I don't know why they came after me in the first place. I was just supposed to tag along to play cover, great as that worked out. My partner is dead."

Yassen watched him for several seconds, maybe looking for something, and apparently he found it because he nodded. "Let's hope they assume you drowned. That way you can leave in a few days."

Alex looked off to the side, unsure of how to take that. It sounded like Yassen wanted to get rid of him as soon as possible, and all things considered, it would only be logical that he did. It still left the teen with an uncomfortably heavy feeling in his stomach, which was just stupid. He was hurt because an internationally known and hunted assassin didn't want him around? Maybe it _was_ time to talk to one of those psychologists MI6 kept attempting to send him to.

The bed moved and Alex watched as Yassen stood up, leaned over to take the empty glass and then started walked towards the door again.

"The bathroom is through here," he gestured at another half-open door. "We will talk more later."

With that he left and Alex found himself staring at a closed door. At least he hadn't heard the lock turn.


	13. Misfortune

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Summary: Jack, Alex, life.

Date: Dec. 17th, before _Questioning _(Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 29.11.2010**

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13. _Misfortune_

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"Hey."

Jack looked up from where she was reading on the living room couch and smiled at him. "Hey, Alex. How was school?"

"Okay." He shrugged his backpack off and kicked his shoes off, leaving them where they fell for now. He'd put them away later. "We had a pop quiz in math."

Jack threw her magazine down on the couch table and leaned back. "Oh? How did it go?"

He frowned as he walked over to slump down next to her, letting his head fall onto the backrest. "Guess," he sighed.

She grimaced in sympathy. "Aww, sweetie, don't worry." She slipped an arm around his shoulders, ignoring the way he tensed up for a moment, and shook him a little. "I know you have a lot to catch up on right now, but you're a smart kid. A few more weeks and you'll be fine."

Alex snorted disbelievingly and leaned into her side. "The headmaster wants to talk to you."

"Oh," Jack blinked, taken aback. "Why?"

The teen shrugged. "My grades, I guess. And my long absences."

His caretaker frowned. "But we explained all that. You gave them the doctor's note, right?"

"Of course I did," he rolled his eyes. "But, as Tom has pointed out before, when I came back I didn't look sick so much as sunburned and beat up all to hell. So _maybe_ they didn't believe that suspiciously convenient doctor's note I gave them."

"Don't be such a sarcastic smartass," Jack chuckled and gave him a playful slap to the back of his head.

He grinned and poked her in the side. "Hey, sarcasm and smartass-ery is what I thrive on. They're the only things left that bring any joy to my life."

"Ha!" She returned his poke two-fold, making him flinch away. "And here I thought that X-box thing you want for Christmas could bring you some joy, but I guess I was mistaken."

He straightened up, suddenly all ears. "You're getting me an X-box?"

She grinned mysteriously. "Well, maybe I was thinking about it, but now... I dunno."

"Jaaack!" He pouted and started tickling her in earnest, making her shriek and try to bat his hands away. He grinned and only increased his efforts.

"Alex! Stop! Ahahaha- stop it!" She managed to catch one of his hands and suddenly the tables were turned, with her poking his sides right back.

He couldn't stop chuckling as they fought back and forth, trying to pin each other's limbs down. He loved spending time with Jack like this, just being silly together and having fun like she really was his big sister.

"A-ha!" Jack exclaimed as she succeeded in trapping his arm in the bend of her knee, the both of them barely able to move anymore without pitching them both off the couch. She still had a hand free though while he needed his only remaining one to hold one of her's at bay, and of course she used this opportunity mercilessy.

"Ah! No! Ja-HACK! Hahaha! No-hohooo! Stop!" He squirmed desperately, trying to fight her off, but she just laughed in delight and tickled him all the harder.

In desperation he tried to wrench himself away and that was finally too much for their balance and they both fell off. Unfortunately, Alex was entirely unprepared for the way his tailbone hit the floor and he yelped, his laughter abruptly cut off.

Jack noticed immediately and stopped laughing too. "Alex? You alright?"

He grimaced and waved her off, rubbing his back with the other hand while he sat up. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just hit my tailbone."

She crawled closer, a worried look on her face. "Damn, sorry. Does it hurt a lot?"

Alex rolled his eyes, more exasperated than in pain already anyway. "I'm fine, Jack. Just a bruised tailbone, no broken bones or anything, I promise."

She half-pouted, half-frowned. "You always promise that and then it turns out you ran around with a broken toe for a week."

He clambered back up on the couch and threw his hands up. "I was ten! And I really thought it was just bruised or something."

She stood up and smoothed out her rumpled clothes while she talked to him, "I just wish you were more careful and tell me when you're hurt somehow. It's my job to make sure you're okay."

He grinned half-heartedly. "Gee, way to make living with me sound like a chore."

She sat down next to him and pulled him back against her side, giving him an affectionate squeeze. "That's not what I meant and you know it, mister. I just worry about you with all the trouble you constantly get in."

"It's not like I do it on purpose," he objected. "This stuff just kinda happens."

Jack raised an eyebrow at him. "The way that incident with the crane, the boat and the police station just 'kinda happened'?"

"Okay," he grimaced contritely. "That was a moment of untold rashness and stupidity. But I promise I won't ever do anything as public and dumb as that on purpose ever again."

His caretaker shook her head at him, grinning a little. "See that you don't. You give me enough gray hairs as it is."


	14. Smile

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Summary: The consequences of going swimming in December.

Date: Dec. 31st, between _Memory_ and _Insanity_ (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 13.12.10**

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14. _Smile_

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He hurts. That's the first thing he becomes aware of. His head, his chest, his whole body. The last time he had felt this bad was... he isn't sure when that was. With his luck probably not too long ago.

It doesn't smell like hospital, though, which is good. He isn't a big fan of hospitals. Most of the nurses there never seem to have heard of that thing called personal space. He has some issues with people just walking up to him and touching him without at least asking.

He tries to move and immediately regrets it. He's seriously sore. Did he get beat up again? Wait, no, wasn't there someone shooting at him? He's got some issues with people shooting at him too. But then again, are there people who _don't _have an issue with that? How would that even work? 'No, no, go ahead and shoot at me, I don't mind.' What kind of crazy people would say that? Would they have a pain fetish or something?

...wait, what the hell is he even thinking about?

Someone puts a hand on his forehead. He should probably be startled or offended or something, but he can't quite dredge up the energy for any of that. Instead he leans into the touch. It feels nice, all warm and smooth and soothing. His pounding headache doesn't seem quite so bad.

"Are you awake?"

The voice is male and low and he's certain he knows it, though he can't quite remember the person it belongs to right now. The only man who has ever been at his bedside like this is Ian, but Ian is dead. He's not sure of a lot of things right now, but he definitely does remember that. A closed casket and spots of dried blood on the driver's seat.

A loud exhale and the hand starts combing through his hair. Again, he's startled by how _good _it feels. He doesn't like people touching him. He lets Jack or Sabina hug him sometimes because, well, he knows them and trusts them and they wouldn't ever hurt him. But this... he _likes_ it. It makes the need to know who's taking care of him nearly unbearable and he opens his eyes, slowly, because he just _knows_ it will hurt.

"Alex?"

The pounding in his head gets infinitely worse and he squints against the bright light blinding him. Why does nobody ever turn down the lights when someone is obviously sick and needs rest? It's like some universal rule that if you are sick or have been unconscious, upon opening your eyes you first have to be blinded by a bright light. It _sucks_.

"Turn th' ligh'off," he whispers, his sore throat not allowing anything louder. At least he still has a bit of a voice. He hates being unable to speak. He especially hates being gagged or having his mouth taped shut. Those are both exceedingly uncomfortable and make calling for help rather difficult. Also - there _is _no good way to remove duct tape.

Suddenly the lights dim and he blinks, only now realizing that the hand in his hair has vanished. What is up with that? Wasn't it there just a second ago? He's really quite sure it was. This is confusing.

"Here, drink something."

His mind tells him he should jump in surprise but all his body manages is a pathetic little twitch and he blinks owlishly at the man sitting in a chair next to his bed. That was- "Yass'n?"

In response a cup with a white-red-blue striped straw in it is held in front of his face. Right. Drinking. But what is that stuff? He also doesn't particularly like drinking something other people give him, even though most of the time he doesn't have much of a choice about that. But he's been drugged that way once, and undressed and apparently photographed and measured to the last tiniest detail, something he had learned about only weeks after the fact. He tries to avoid thinking about it too often.

"It's tea."

There's more owlish blinking on his part as the assassin answers a question he hasn't even asked yet. Almost like mind-reading. That would be neat. If he could read minds then he wouldn't always get surprised by supposedly nice people turning out to be murderous bastards. Or by murderous bastards turning out to be pretty nice people; people who offer him tea. He manages three sips before he has to stop. He feels silly drinking throug a straw. It's just as silly as imagining Yassen standing in a store and buying white-red-blue striped straws. Swallowing hurts.

"Thanks," Alex whispers and watches as Yassen puts the cup on the nightstand next to the bed. Why is the assassin helping him? For that matter, why is Alex even _here_? He can't remember what happened before he woke up. Something to do with shooting and running and cold and...

"You saved me." He's surprised at the words spilling out of his own mouth. But it's true, isn't it? "Why?"

The man looks at him and Alex notices that he's taken out the brown contact lenses; his eyes are as blue and unreadable as they ever were. "You asked me to."

Alex would laugh if it didn't take so much effort. Instead he grins tiredly. "Nobody ever helps me just because I ask them to."

There's no answer though, only another question. "Why did you call me?"

He's too tired to be stubborn about getting a real explanation, so he shrugs. "Nobody else would've believed me." And that's true. He's tried calling the police before and MI6 and ASIS. Help only ever comes after it's already all over and done with.

Again there's no answer and giving up the fight against his pounding head he closes his eyes. There are coloured spots dancing behind his eyes and he thinks that if he ignores the fact that they are a sign of just how sick and exhausted he is they are actually quite pretty. Like confetti. Glittery, multi-coloured confetti. Sabina would like it.

Yassen lays his hand on his forehead again and even though Alex knows now who it is it still feels nice. Comforting. Maybe there is something to this whole letting-people-touch-you thing after all. Something else besides potential pain, that is.

"Your fever is getting worse. Go back to sleep."

Sleep sounds like a good idea, only that the hand is being taken away and he's so not on board with that. Without thinking about it any further he catches the assassin's wrist, pulling the Russian's cool hand back to rest on his burning skin.

"Keep it there," he mumbles sleepily, looking at the man from beneath heavy lashes.

Yassen doesn't move, surprise for once plain on his face and Alex smiles. He likes seeing some kind of expression there. He'll have to try to make that happen more often. For now though he closes his eyes again, sleep pulling hard at him, and soon his arm grows too heavy to hold up and falls back onto the bed.

The Russian's hand stays on his forehead.


	15. Silence

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Summary: The silence between them was thick with tension.

Date: Dec. 29th - 11.30 pm, between _Drive_ and _Innocence_ (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 05.12.10**

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15. _Silence_

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The silence between them was thick with tension.

After they had arrived back at the hotel Alex had gone to take a shower [_wash the number off before the agent saw it again and got suspicious_] while Barner had locked himself up in his room. Now, almost an hour later, they were both in the living room and Barner was studiously ignoring him again while he was doing something on his laptop. Alex was quickly approaching the end of his rope and had taken to staring at the man intensely.

Finally, after a good twenty minutes of this, Barner looked up and snapped at him. "What?"

Alex smiled thinly. "Are you ever actually going to tell me what exactly you have done, what you have found out and whether we have to expect anyone coming after us?"

The agent scowled. "I've told you before, it's none of your business."

Alex scowled back. "I'm here and I'm your partner."

The man scoffed. "You are a useless tag-along that somehow bullied his way into coming here. Just because the higher-ups think they owe you something and _you_ think it's fun to play spy-"

"I do _**not**_-" He stopped short and forced himself to calm down. He had dealt with people like this before. "I do not think being a spy is fun. I did not want to come here. MI6 is blackmailing me into working for them."

Barner laughed. Alex gritted his teeth in annoyance.

"MI6 doesn't need or want a child like you working for them. I don't know in what kind of pretty dream-world you live, but in _this_ reality there are actual agents, professionals who are taught to do this job."

For a moment the teen was simply speechless. Why was this man so unreasonably antagonistic towards him? Even in the case that Barner's 'reality' had any shred of truth to it it would be more useful to be neutrally non-aggressive towards each other. But this idiot was spoiling for a fight.

He took a deep breath. "Okay. Fine. You don't want me here. That's fine, because I don't want to be here either. Unfortunately, we have to deal with it until our debriefing tomorrow night. Until then, I'd at least appreciate to know whether I have to be prepared to duck and run suddenly."

Barner had stood up in the course of their conversation and now he was coming closer. He still looked undeniably angry.

"Now listen here, _boy_," he hissed. "You don't tell me what to do. _I'm_ calling the shots here. This is _my_ mission and _I_ have seniority here, no matter what Jones said."

Alex raised his eyebrows in surprise. That was what Barner was worried about? What the hell had Jones told the man?

"Look, I don't care about who's the boss. I don't even want to be here. Can't we just-"

"Oh, like you didn't force your way onto this mission! You are just like your uncle or whatever he was!"

...what?

Alex was speechless. Was this what this was about? Some old grudge against Ian Rider? Just how childish, or rather mentally unstable, was this man?

He stood up from where he had been sitting on the couch and backed away a few steps. He hadn't thought the agent could or would become violent, but now he found himself reevaluating that impression.

"I don't know what your problem with Ian is and it has nothing to do with me. Okay? I didn't even know that he was a spy until he was already dead."

Immediately, Barner's glower was replaced by an ugly smile. "Ohh, so he lied to you too, huh? Must have been quite a shock to find out that you never really knew the man. Did you cry?"

No, he hadn't. He hadn't had the time. Alex kept silent and gave the agent a calm, unruffled look, though anger was starting to simmer beneath the surface.

The man pressed on. "Is that why you are here? To be like your uncle? To make him proud? Do you think Rider is watching over you and feeling proud that his little nephew is following in his footsteps?"

That last remark stung because it had a shred of truth in it. Ian _would_ have been proud if he could have seen Alex these days. He had literally _raised_ him to become a spy. Alex still hadn't forgiven the man for that.

"What, you have nothing to say? Don't you want to defend yourself?"

The teen looked up. Barner had followed him and was standing in front of him again, the ugly grin still present. He looked like a overgrown schoolyard bully.

Suddenly, Alex felt very calm and very tired.

"I hope you feel better about yourself now," he sighed and turned away.

Barner stared at him in surprise - then he suddenly lashed out. Alex reacted without thinking and blocked the first hit. Then he spun around on his foot and swept the man's right leg out form underneath him, at the same time giving him a firm shove against his breast bone.

It was over before it had really begun, with Barner sitting on the floor in dazed surprise and Alex just standing there, tense and ready.

Then he spun around, grabbed his coat off the rack, forced his feet into his shoes and left.


	16. Questioning

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Summary: There must have been some quite imaginative rumours going around in order for these inquiries to become necessary.

Author's Notes: Just some little snapshot of what Alex regularly has to deal with at school.

Date: Dec. 18th, between _Misfortune_ and _Seeking Solace_ (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 29.11.10**

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16. _Questioning_

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"I understand that this must seem strange to you," the headmaster said and Alex silently agreed. "But after our last meeting with your guarding certain... questions were asked and we have to make sure that, well, that nothing untoward is going on."

Alex raised an eyebrow and said, "You think Jack is abusing me?"

The headmaster looked embarrassed. "It is possible and the school has to make sure that you are safe at home."

He _was_ safe at home. It was everywhere else that was the problem.

"Okay," Alex nodded. "Ask your questions."

The headmaster coughed and fidgeted around with a few papers. Finally he got out a form that probably had to be filled out from the looks of it. "How would you describe your relationship with your guardian? Do you fight often?" If possible, the man looked even more uncomfortable than before. Alex wondered what this man thought he and Jack got up to at home.

"We're friends. She takes care of the house and everything and I trust her to have my best interests at heart. We rarely get into fights."

The headmaster glanced up from where he was busily scribbling on his paper. "But you _do _have fights?"

Alex gave him a dubious look. "I'm fourteen and she's my guardian. Of course we have a few arguments every now and then."

"Does she ever get... rough during your fights? Verbally or physically?"

The teen did his best to give the man a disbelieving look. "No."

The headmaster cleared his throat. "Good, good." He checked the next question on his paper and grimaced a little. "Did she ever make you do something that you didn't want to?"

"She's made me clean my room a couple of times," Alex said with a wry smile. He was starting to feel kind of sorry for the poor man.

"No, I mean..." The headmaster gestured helplessly.

Alex smiled pleasantly and waited.

The older man gave a defeated sigh and said quickly, "Has there ever been any sexual harassment and or abuse towards you initiated or aided by her?"

The teen grimaced. Expecting the question didn't make hearing it any better. There must have been some quite imaginative rumours going around in order for these inquiries to become necessary. "No," he answered seriously. "Nothing like that has ever happened. Jack is like my older sister. She's family. I trust her."

The headmaster was visibly relieved at that. "Good. Is there anyone else you get into fights with? Or who habitually hits you? Abuses you?"

Alex thought of MI6, of the new set of scars he brought home every time they sent him out, of the many men and women who had tried and failed to kill him over the last few months.

"No." He rarely got into a fight with someone more than once these days.

"Good," the man nodded again. "You know that you can always tell us if something is wrong, right? We will do our best to help you," he said seriously. "You are a bright boy, Alex, if only you attended school more often you could go very far."

Unfortunately, their best was not enough and Alex had already gone farther than he'd ever wanted to. He smiled. "Thank you, sir. I'll try to do better."


	17. Blood

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Summary: He knew all the theory from his thorough first aid course with the SAS, but that knowledge was hard to apply with only his left hand when he was the one wounded.

Date: Jan. 1st - 12.30 pm, between _Insanity_ and _Grey_ (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 16.12.10**

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17. _Blood_

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The next time he woke up he felt... sticky. The sheets were clinging to his skin and he was sweating, and yet it was as cold as if he were back in that river. He shivered and decided that it was high time for a hot shower.

Sitting up went slower and cost him more than he had anticipated, but he gritted his teeth and pressed on; he couldn't stand the feel of his own sweat-slick skin another minute. Scooting to the edge of the bed, he took in the whole room for the first time, but beyond a closed laptop on a small table and a zipped up travel bag on the floor beside it he noticed nothing out of the ordinary. It simply was a normal hotel room; a table with two chairs, a bed, a small wardrobe, and two windows with drawn curtains. The midday sun was shining through the beige cloth, so it seemed like another couple of hours had passed since he had last been awake.

His knees were rather wobbly and for a moment the room spun around him, but he stayed on his feet. His head reacted to his movement by pounding viciously; a feeling he had gotten way too used to in the last few months.

He considered trying to open the laptop, but he was fairly sure that it would be futile. Yassen was too professional to leave something like that lying around if there was any possibility of Alex getting at important data.

The bathroom was rather small. There were maybe two steps between the toilet, the sink and the shower stall. He noticed his clothes hanging in the shower and unconsciously relaxed a bit. He could understand that he would have died if Yassen hadn't gotten him out of his clothes, but he still felt immensely uncomfortable in the man's too big t-shirt and shorts.

His pants and underwear [_ohmygod__**don't**__thinkaboutit_!] were dry and looked pretty okay, but his shirt was ripped and streaked with reddish brown stains. It was strange. He must have bled quite a bit but he didn't even remember it. All he could recall was the cold.

He took off his shirt, revealing several bruises he hadn't even been aware of and bandages wrapped around his shoulder and chest, probably to hold a gauze pad in place. His shoulder didn't hurt too bad, but the wrist he had fallen on was swollen and blue, and he barely felt it. It stood to reason that he was on rather strong painkillers.

He considered taking the bandage off for his shower, but he preferred not to even start thinking about getting shampoo into his freshly scabbed wound. He could happily live without that experience.

The hot water felt wonderful on his cold, sweaty skin and he relaxed under the spray, though he was always careful to keep his shoulder dry. After a while, the heat started making him drowsy, and he quickly washed his hair before he did something stupid, like falling asleep.

When he stepped out of the shower, the cold hit him again and he shivered, hurriedly drying himself off with one of the hotel's rough towels. It was made more difficult by the fact that while it didn't really hurt, he also couldn't move his wrist or shoulder very well.

Needless to say, he was rather relieved when he finally wore his own shorts and jeans again at least. His shirt was unusable, so he would have to take one of Yassen's when he left. That would be strange.

The bandage had gotten wet around his chest and now it was starting to itch uncomfortably. He should probably change it before he left.

He had decided to go while he had been under the shower but the fact of the matter was that he still didn't know _where-to_ he wanted to go. It would probably be best if he just went to the city's police department and let them handle the rest. Even if they didn't believe him about MI6, they _had_ to have found Barner's corpse by now. Most of Alex's stuff and traces of him were in the hotel room too, so they wouldn't be able to deny his involvement and need for protection.

But first things first.

A short search revealed a first aid box underneath the sink and after a second's contemplation he took it back to the other room with him. It would be easier to reapply the bandages sitting down on the bed. He could walk straight and he wouldn't fall over just like that, but he was hardly in any shape to waste energy unnecessarily.

When he came back into the main room he noticed the stale smell of sweat and sickness and wrinkled his nose. He walked over and opened one of the windows, using the opportunity to throw a glance outside. There was nothing but non-descript houses, a fast food stall, a street and further to the left a few fields. They had to be in one of the small towns on the outskirts of Nuremberg.

Once he was back on the bed he was tempted to lie down and fall asleep again, but he knew he didn't have time for that. He had no idea what or if Yassen had anything planned for him once he got back from wherever he had vanished to, and while Alex really did believe that the man wanted to let him go, he also wasn't all that eager to stick around to find out for sure.

The first aid kit had been used recently, but luckily Yassen had restocked it. Alex took the scissors from the box and cut through the bandages before carefully peeling them off. Through moving his shoulder and wrist had gotten worse, so he figured he should hurry a bit before the painkillers wore off and he was left to deal with the aftermath.

Twisting around awkwardly, he checked the gauze pad. It was bled through in a few spots and he could smell antiseptics, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been. He was very careful when he peeled the pad off, but a few fresh scabs still came off with the cloth made sticky by blood.

The wound wasn't as deep as he had expected. It simply was an about six centimetres long and one centimetre wide furrow where his skin and a bit of flesh were gone. It was bleeding sluggishly in a few small spots and he cleaned it up with a cotton ball as good as he could. He knew all the theory from his thorough first aid course with the SAS, but that knowledge was hard to apply with only his left hand when he was the one wounded.

He managed somehow, though when he got to the antiseptic it got a bit complicated. He had to disinfect the whole thing to prevent an infection, but every light touch with the liquid soaked cotton ball burned like hell. He had to stop several times and take deep breaths before he could continue.

He was awkwardly twisted around, trying to reach the lower edge of the wound without straining his shoulder too much when the door opened all of a sudden and Yassen came in.

Alex jumped and straightened up immediately, giving the assassin an apprehensive look. There went the plan of simply walking out the door. His mouth opened and closed, searching for words, but in the end all that came out was, "Uhh...hi."

Yassen quietly closed the door, put down a bag that had been slung across his shoulder, and _looked_ at Alex. Then he raised his eyebrows.

Alex was annoyed to find himself feeling like he had done something wrong.

"Did your graze tear?" The Russian asked, starting to walk over.

The teen was strangely reassured by the complete lack of emotion on the other one's part. "No, I just took a shower and needed to change the bandages. Wanted to see how bad it is."

Yassen nodded though he did frown a little.

Again Alex wanted to back away. Instead he stayed put and went back to trying to disinfect the wound, unwilling to make it obvious how much the man intimidated him.

Yassen was silent behind him as he twisted his shoulder down and lightly dabbed at the wound. He had to grit his teeth to keep from cursing and he closed his eyes, taking another deep breath to ride out the burning pain.

Suddenly, Yassen's hand closed around his right upper arm and he jumped, utterly unprepared for the touch.

"Wha-?"

He half-turned and stared up at the man in surprise, more than a little spooked that he hadn't heard him move at all.

Yassen gestured at the cotton ball and said, "Let me."

Without even thinking about it and before he could stop himself Alex plunked the swab into the man's hand. A second later he was annoyed at himself for complying so easily. What was he? A dog? And he could take care of his wounds just fine by himself, he didn't need the other's help for this.

He opened his mouth, half-formed words at the tip of his tongue, but then he hissed in pain. Yassen was liberally applying the disinfectant to the graze and it was only the man's firm grip on his arm that kept him from cringing away. It made Alex very grateful that he had been unconscious the previous times he must have done this.

After a second and third swipe he really was biting his tongue, and when Yassen reached for the bottle of disinfectant and a fresh cotton ball he wanted to whimper. Was this much really necessary? The wound was already plenty clean in Alex's opinion.

The assassin seemed to think otherwise and so the teen bore the other's meticulous attention with gritted teeth, clenched fists and the one or other hiss. The doctors hadn't done this after the last time he got a graze shot, did they? But then again, he hadn't thrown himself into a dirty river immediately after the last time either...

Finally though, after what felt like hours, Yassen threw the used cotton balls away and took a fresh piece of gauze from the first aid kit.

Alex allowed himself a sigh of relief. From here on out the procedure would be pretty much painless and he relaxed his unconsciously tensed up shoulders a little. He was still prepared for more rough handling, but to his surprise it didn't come.

Yassen worked quickly and precisely, but he seemed to take care not to cause the teen unnecessary pain. The gauze was carefully smoothed over the wound before the man took the fresh bandages, non-committally directing Alex to stand up. For a moment he wanted to insist on doing this himself, but then again, what good would it do? The assassin clearly had a lot of experience in this and all protesting would achieve was to make him seem childish and immature.

Of course, standing up meant that the pounding in his head came back with a vengeance and for a moment he wavered, the room spinning around him. The firm grip on his arm was an unexpectedly welcome help in keeping him steady and he leaned into it, closing his eyes.

"Stay like this."

Yassen's voice was close and he only just stopped himself from jumping, though he couldn't help but tense up reflexively. He could literally feel the man pause behind him, but luckily he didn't comment. Instead he started to wrap the bandage across the teen's chest and shoulder.

Alex felt incredibly awkward, hyperaware of every time Yassen's hands brushed against his skin while they wrapped the wound. With Jack as the sole exception, he usually didn't like or tolerate people touching him for too long, and the past months with MI6 had only exacerbated this slight aversion of his. Physical contact meant that they had already gotten close enough to be dangerous.

Now, though, he was acutely aware of the assassin freely moving around in his personal space and it took one hell of a lot of self-control not to step away. It didn't help at all that every slight touch made his skin tingle and itch annoyingly. He wanted to fidget very badly, but even more he didn't want to show his discomfort.

He was so tense that he actually jumped a little when Yassen suddenly spoke. "How did you get these scars?"

Confused and wanting to see the other's eyes, Alex half-turned and looked up at the Russian. "What?"

"These here." For a moment the man paused and drew his fingers in a jagged line over the small of the teen's back.

The young spy shivered half in discomfort, half in embarrassment, and quickly looked forward again, feeling the heat rise into his cheeks. "I, uh, was diving and noticed too late that a shark was on my trail, so when I dodged I kinda backed into a coral reef. I didn't have time to take care of it later, so the scars look pretty bad even though it was just a couple of cuts."

Yassen finished wrapping the bandage and tied it up during the teen's little story, apparently unbothered by the strangeness that was Alex's life. Though he did have a few questions. "You went diving on your own?"

Alex automatically rolled his eyes, having endured countless lectures from Ian about never, ever, _ever_ going diving on his own. Yeah, he _knew_ that it was dangerous. "It was either that or leave my partners behind. Though by the time I went down they were already long dead of course, so I could've saved myself _that _little adventure."

The Russian stepped away from him, allowing Alex to sit down on the bed, and for once the man seemed honestly intrigued. "What happened?"

"Uhh..." Where should he begin? The atomic bomb? Sarov? Wimbleton and the Triad? Wait, should he even tell Yassen any of that? It was probably better to just stick to the bare facts and leave out any extra information. "We were trying to get into an estate on an island and there was a ladder from an underwater cave up to the grounds, so my partners thought they could get in that way. Unfortunately the owner knew about that entrance and had booby-trapped it, so they died when they swam into the cave."

He paused for a moment, thinking back to that black gaping hole in the cliff wall. "Actually, that's how the shark died too." An ironic grin slipped onto his face. "Funny how two things that could have killed me saved my life from each other."

Yassen wasn't smiling so much as looking bemused. "You must be the luckiest person I have ever met."

Alex snorted. "Yeah, right, that's why I'm here." He waved at his bandaged shoulder and generally beat up appearance.

"You survived jumping into a river in the middle of the night in winter. I would call that lucky," the man commented while he packed up the first aid kid.

"Only because of you," the teen shot back without thinking about it. After a moment his words caught up to him and he flushed lightly. Way to bring up an awkward topic. "I mean, if you hadn't helped me I'd be dead. Th-thanks. Again."

Yassen only huffed once under his breath in response, leaving it open to Alex to interpret it as either an aborted chuckle, an acknowledgement or a sign of annoyance. Could that man _be_ any more ambiguous?

While the Russian put the first kid away Alex tiredly slipped back under the blanket, all the warmth from the shower having long since left him. Maybe his decision to leave right away had been a little premature.

"Weller as well as the police have ordered a search for Lloyd Williams," the man commented as he came back. "The latter are expecting to find either a corpse or a young murderer. You might want to be careful when you leave."

Okay, so it seemed like the previous topic was over and done with. Instead he could get a headache over a whole new issue now.

If there hadn't been so many people looking for him he would have managed to get back to London even sick as he was, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to escape notice for long in his current state. Avoiding being spotted without seeming suspicious was going to take energy he simply didn't have right now.

He sighed and threw a glance at Yassen. "Is it okay if I stay here for a couple more days?"

The Russian was giving him a stony, measuring look and Alex prepared himself to be told flat-out no, just in case. Luckily, the assassin nodded once and then sat down in front of his laptop, apparently deeming their conversation over.

Alex snuggled under the blankets and stared at the wall, trying to slow his racing thoughts. He couldn't do anything but bide his time for now.


	18. Rainbow

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Summary: "He was woken by a hand on his shoulder and instinctively flinched back." The morning is grey.

Date: Jan. 2nd - 7.30 am, between _Mother Nature_ and _Vacation_ (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 18.12.10**

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18. _Rainbow_

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He was woken by a hand on his shoulder and instinctively flinched back. The hand was quickly taken away. A glance around showed that he was curled up in the passenger seat of Yassen's car and that they were standing on the parking lot of a supermarket. There was sleet coming down.

"I am going to buy some food," the Russian said from beside him. "Stay in the car."

Alex nodded silently and watched as Yassen left. He was nothing but the black silhouette of a stranger against the harsh lights of the store.

The teen sighed and leaned back in his seat, curling up tighter. He was cold and his fever still hadn't gone down all that much. His shoulder and right wrist pounded in time with his heartbeat.

The clock in the headboard said that it was half past seven in the morning. That meant that they had been on the road for a little more than nine hours. Alex had no idea where they were.

He still couldn't quite believe that the situation he found himself in was for real. It all felt like one big, surreal nightmare, from the moment he had found Barner's corpse right up until now, on the run from criminals and the police together with one of the world's most wanted assassins. Who had just gone to buy groceries.

He glanced at the blood on his hands and under his fingernails and laughed.

Killing that man had been so horribly easy and he couldn't even bring himself to feel guilty about it. Was this what he was going to become? A cold, unfeeling machine that killed without remorse? A man like Yassen?

He laughed again.

No, even now he didn't think he could ever be like the assassin. He didn't regret killing that bastard because he had deserved to die. Alex would do the same thing over and over again if given the chance.

He tried to curl up tighter and shivered.

The clothes he wore were too big on him. They belonged to Yassen. His own were in a plastic bag on the back seat; they were too drenched in blood to ever be worn again. Well, at least the Russian's pullover was thick and comfy. He tugged it up over his nose; it smelled good. Outside, a few people were hurrying across the lot.

Wouldn't it be nice to have a normal life like that? To worry about nothing but avoiding the rain and buying the right kind of breakfast bread so that the rest of the family wouldn't complain again? He snorted at himself and his thoughts. Yeah, he was in a bad mood and had had a few truly shitty days, but he knew that dreams like this were useless. He wasn't going to start letting himself wallow in them now.

A new car drove onto the parking lot and Alex blinked, a little bemused. It was painted in almost offensively bright rainbow colours. He watched, the corners of his mouth turning up into a little smile, as a whole family started tumbling out of the doors, all five of them laughing and talking.

The mother went to get a shopping cart while the father herded the three girls towards the entrance of the store. He wasn't too successful, most likely because the children seemed to be more interested in jumping into the big puddles all over the lot. Alex laughed quietly.

Suddenly, one of the girls noticed him from all the way across the lot and stopped short.

Alex blinked and waved.

And just like that she was grinning at him, large and happy and carefree. A moment later her father called her and she ran after her family into the store.

Alex was still smiling when Yassen came back.


	19. Grey

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Summary: The men stopped short and stared at Alex. The teen couldn't have said who was more surprised.

Author's Notes: Alex just can't seem to catch a break.

Date: Jan. 1st - 4 pm, between _Blood _and _Fortitude _(Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 16.12.10**

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19. _Grey_

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It was almost comical how completely caught off guard they were when it happened.

Hours after he'd taken his shower he had been half-awake, watching Yassen through lidded eyes and thinking about getting something to drink, when the door opened and two men in dark grey suits entered the room. "Mihailov, the boss says you can't-"

The men stopped short and stared at Alex. The teen couldn't have said who was more surprised.

In the split second it took him to sit up, Yassen stood up, moved closer to the door and took out his gun. Likewise, the two had their weapons drawn and pointed at the Russian.

Everyone froze.

"Mihailov," the taller of the two inclined his head in Alex's direction. "Care to explain?"

Yassen didn't react, though the young spy noticed his foot inching across the floor. Unfortunately, the man still in the doorway noticed too and barked, "Don't move!"

Then his gun swung around to point at the teen. "Neither of you!"

Alex froze with his foot half-way to the floor.

The stand-off lasted another few seconds, then the taller man who had reacted first nudged his partner. "Call the others up. Tell them we found the brat and surveillance was right. Mihailov's a traitor." The man left.

Alex had a sinking feeling in his gut. They were going to die, weren't they? Why wasn't Yassen doing anything? The teen knew how incredibly fast the Russian could be.

The first man circled into the room and swung his gun around to point at Alex, but he addressed Yassen. "Drop your gun or he's dead. We don't need him alive that badly."

For a moment Alex wanted to flat out laugh. They thought they could use _him_ as leverage against Yassen? It would have been hilarious if it didn't also mean that he was dead. He tensed to at least attempt to throw himself to the side.

Then Yassen dropped his weapon.

Alex gaped. What the hell was the man _doing_? He- what - _**why**__?_

But he didn't have much more time to think about it because at that moment the second goon came back with two others following him. In short order they had the Russian's hands bound behind his back with a belt and a gun to his head. Alex kept hoping to wake up, his hands clenching and unclenching in helpless anger.

"Up with you." The first man had come over to the bed and was waving the gun at the teen.

Alex gritted his teeth and got up, moving slowly to appear non-threatening and because his pounding head wouldn't let him go any faster anyway. At least he had kept his jeans on when he'd gone back to bed or he'd find himself in his underwear in front of these people now. As soon as he was on his feet he was seized by the arm and tugged forward, making him stumble. He tensed up and glared when the man grabbed his chin and forced him to look up.

The bastard whistled. "He looks completely drugged up. You keeping your boytoy on the good stuff, Mihailov, huh?" He rubbed his fingertips over the teen's flushed cheeks without letting go.

Alex threw his head back to break the man's grip on him and outright glowered, a snappy comeback at the tip of his tongue, but a warning look from Yassen made him keep his mouth shut.

"Bring Mihailov down first. I'll follow with the boy in five minutes. Mihailov," he turned to address Yassen. "You try anything, the boy is dead."

The Russian remained perfectly calm and unruffled, only answering with a simple nod before compliantly letting himself be manhandled from the room. He really hoped that the assassin had some kind of plan or the teen would be seriously pissed off at him for making him stay quiet.

The only remaining man kept his gun pointed at Alex's face, though certainly not his eyes. "Man, Mihailov sure is pretty rough with you. You like your men rough, boy?" he asked with a dirty leer.

The teen scowled and instinctively crossed his arms against that sleazy gaze. He neither liked the insinuations nor the way that guy was staring at him. "Can I put a shirt on before we leave?"

For a moment the man actually seemed to want to say no, but pity or simple common sense won out and he nodded. Though he did add the warning, "One wrong move and I shoot you."

Alex gritted his teeth and quickly looked around, locating Yassen's bag still next to the little table. It took him more effort than it should have to bend down and pick up what looked like a black shirt from the bag, and then the guy first made him shake out the shirt and then show his hands, to make sure he wasn't hiding anything. He hated having to do whatever the man said, but even so it was still more comfortable than that full body search Nile had put him through once. He did _not _appreciate having to undress in front of somebody and then being pretty much searched and touched all over without the slightest hint of personal space. That had been... yuck.

Finally though he was allowed to put on the shirt and the five minutes seemed to be up too. The man stepped behind him and twisted his arm behind his back, making Alex bite back a scream as the guy had a firm grip on his hurt wrist. Still, it was probably better than if he'd twisted his hurt shoulder like that.

The man's voice was uncomfortably close to his ear as he ordered, "Off we go, boy."


	20. Fortitude

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Summary: "No..." It was quiet and weak, desperate in a way he hadn't known he could be until then. Alex never wanted to hear himself sound like this ever again.

Author's Notes: Hope I'm not scaring readers away with this. I'm putting Alex through some serious shit here.

**Rating:** M

**Warnings:** Chapter **spoilers**! Attempted rape, character death, blood, gory descriptions

Date: Jan. 1st - 9 pm, between _Grey_ and _Mother Nature_ (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 17.12.10**

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20. _Fortitude_

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Alex had come to the conclusion that being blindfolded really sucked.

He knew that his still swollen right wrist was handcuffed to a radiator, that he was sitting on a freezingly cold concrete floor and that the room he was in was small to normal-sized, judging by the lack of echo. Beyond that, he was literally in the dark.

He didn't know where Yassen was. Hell, he didn't even know where _he_ was. If it weren't for the fact that they still didn't seem to have found out about his involvement with MI6 and that he had experience with being handcuffed to something and then left alone for hours, he would have panicked.

As things stood the situation was bad, but he had gotten out of worse messes before. Sure, he didn't have any gadgets this time, but that only meant that he had to wait and take the first opportunity that arose. They were seriously underestimating him, thinking that he was just a kid.

He guessed that a few hours had passed since he had been left here once he finally heard the lock turn and someone entered the room.

"Good evening, Lloyd." There was a bit of rustling and a clank; it sounded like the man had put something down. "Or whatever your name might be. I wonder how much they offered to pay you for this?"

_Definitely not enough_, Alex thought to himself. He heard steps coming closer and stopping directly in front of him.

He cocked his head to the side and answered, "Sorry, I don't think you can match the price."

There was a low chuckle and the teen tensed up as he felt the man reach for him. His blindfold was tugged off and he blinked against the sudden light

"Yeah, I imagine people are willing to pay quite a bit for a pretty boy like you."

It was the man who had dragged Alex out of the bed. He looked to be in his twenties and aside from being muscular, nothing about him really stood out. Short dark hair, murky brown eyes, normal face, slight stubble. If he'd seen him on the street the teen would probably have forgotten him two seconds after walking past him.

"I don't do that kinda stuff," the young spy bit out in response to the man's insinuation.

"You sure?" The man grinned. "Because it sure looked like it from where I stood." He reached out again and tugged at the hem of Alex's - _Yassen's _- shirt. "His clothes comfy?"

The blond was mortified to feel his face grow hot, unable to come up with an answer.

The man's grin grew. "So how about a little bargain?" He gestured at the pile of stuff he had put down by the door. "See that?"

"No, I've suddenly gone blind," the teen mumbled crossly.

The guy only seemed more amused. "A blanket, food and something to drink. The nights get cold down here and the boss isn't going to deal with you until tomorrow at the earliest. So how about you're a little nice to me..."

A hand skimmed over his exposed neck and Alex jumped, pressing himself back against the radiator with wide eyes. What the-?

"And in return I'm a little nice to you?" The man gestured at the things he'd brought once more and smiled winningly.

The young spy felt his stomach turn. "Forget it," he snarled. "I told you, I don't do that kinda stuff." He backed away along the wall until the handcuff was taut, more freaked out than he was willing to admit.

But the guy followed undeterred, taking two steps and looming over the teen again. He seemed to be trying to turn his leer into a convincing smile. "Come on, don't be like that. I'm sure I could show you a good time."

"Have you talked to someone about your self-delusions yet? They can't be healthy for you," Alex snapped.

At that the smile turned into a scowl. "What, only Mihailov's allowed to touch you? Is that it?"

"What? No!" Alex exclaimed, flushing again. Yassen... touching him? The thought made him feel strange and not half as horrified as it probably should. No time to think about that though, what with that damn pervert crowding him against the wall. He involuntarily tried to shrink back, but the chain on his wrist stopped him. "Look, I'm not a whore and I'm not interested, so _back off _already!"

The man snorted disbelievingly. "Yeah, that's why we found you in his bed. Stop your little act, it's getting annoying."

"It's not-" The other grabbed at Alex's shoulder and the teen flinched, his free hand coming up to uselessly shove against the man's chest. "It's not an act! _Get off!"_

The guy laughed.

Alex was starting to panic. The man was considerably bigger and stronger than him, he could use both his hands and he wasn't backing off. This couldn't be happening. It just... _couldn't_. His breathing sped up and his gaze darted around, searching for something, anything to help him-

There. A hunting knife on the other's belt. Maybe he could-

His free wrist was seized and pinned against the wall before he could even form a vague plan. He yelped, twisting away, and then he was kicking, squirming, trying frantically to get away, crawl back to the radiator, get some leverage to throw the other off...

But it was all in vain. No matter how normal the man looked, he had all the advantages on his side and in short order Alex found himself trapped against the wall, his hands pinned by the handcuff and the other's grip, his legs held down by the larger body's weight. He tried one last time to buck the man off, then slumped down as it became clear that he was just wasting his strength. [_Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgodoh__**god**__._]

"That's it, boy. Stop fighting and I'll make sure you enjoy yourself too." Heavy hands were roving over the teen's chest, pawing at the hem of his too large shirt, and Alex's heart was pounding like mad, his breath coming in flat gasps. He could literally taste the adrenaline at the back of his throat.

"Please," he tried again, his mouth incredibly dry. "I've never- What you are doing is rape. You can't really want to-"

Whatever he wanted to say next, his words were cut off by the man's hand sliding over his mouth. "I told you to cut it out, didn't I? If you want to talk so badly, feel free to beg, but otherwise shut up." The hand left his mouth and slid under his shirt, tugging it up. The teen sucked in a sharp breath.

"Oh, and..." The man looked up from where he had been staring at Alex's stomach, having the gall to grin at the young spy. "My name's Frank. Just so you know what name to moan."

The teen snarled, bucking his hips once more in an attempt to dislodge the other. "Fucking _bastard! _Get the _HELL _off me!"

As if in answer, Frank got off his legs and for one second Alex almost thought the other had decided to stop - then he yelped as as the man grabbed his hips and yanked him down so that he was flat on his back, his wrist straining painfully against the handcuff and his head knocking against the floor. He felt dizzy, his head throbbing, but he resumed his struggles, silently and doggedly working to throw the other off. He would not let this happen. He _wouldn't_.

After a few moments, the man seemed to become impatient and simply put his hands on the spy's hips to pin him to the ground with his full weight, so hard Alex thought he felt his bones creak. "Come on, boy, don't be so difficult now," was panted against the teen's ear and he grimaced, turning his head away, squirming against the hands moving over his stomach, his hips, his thighs.

"I liked you from the moment I saw you. I bet you're a screamer, aren't you?" That statement was accompanied by a mouth on his neck and Alex's face contorted in disgust, making him grit his teeth and resuming his struggles with even more determination. He kicked, yanked at the handcuffs, tried to twist to the side - would anyone hear him if he screamed? Would anyone care?

"What? No snarky answer?" There was low laughter, lips moving over his skin, sucking [_oh god, gonna be sick_], and how the fuck could this bastard be so goddamn _heavy_? "Fine. I'll just have to find out for myself then."

His legs were forced apart and his shirt was up around his shoulders, the floor achingly cold beneath his naked back. His left wrist felt bruised where Frank's weight was pushing down on it and his eyes were starting to burn traitorously, his vision wavering at the corners. [_This can't be happening. Oh god, this __**can't be happening.**_]

"Don't worry, I'll make you like it," was murmured against his chest and he could feel the scratch of the man's beard against his skin. "You'll love it so much you'll be begging me to fuck you. Such a pretty little boy... bet your ass is tight as hell."

There was a hand tugging at the button of his pants and he lost it, really hyperventilating now. "_NO! _Get off! Fuck you, you son of a bitch! Get the _HELL OFF! _Bastard! Get your ha-_" _

Frank backhanded him across the face and his head banged against the floor, stars exploding behind his eyes.

"Will you shut up already! Here I am trying to be nice and that's what I get in return. Fucking brat!"

Alex felt sick and dazed, all his moves sluggish and delayed, black spots dancing in his vision. Half his face and the back of his head throbbed painfully and he struggled weakly, unable to do anything but watch as the man opened his pants and roughly tugged them as well as his underwear down.

"No..." It was quiet and weak, desperate in a way he hadn't known he could be until then. Alex never wanted to hear himself sound like this ever again.

Frank didn't even seem to hear his protests anymore, instead using both his hands to stroke over the naked skin of the teen's stomach and hips, lower-

_Both _his hands.

Alex clenched his [_**free**_] left hand.

It was no conscious idea, no plan, no decision. One second he was beneath the man, being forcibly undressed, the next his hand moved, grabbed the knife from the other's belt and rammed it into his throat.

They stared at each other in stunned silence.

Then Frank screamed, a horrible, wet, gurgling sound, his hands scrabbling at his neck, ripping the knife out...

Blood splashed over Alex's face, running down his cheek, hot and tangy on his lips, and he could feel it soak into his shirt. [_I'm __**free**__._] Frank frantically tried to stumble to his feet, the knife clattering to the floor, and the teen slowly sat up, watching with wide eyes as more and more blood covered the concrete.

[_Did it look like this when Barner died?_]

He slid backwards until he felt the radiator at his back, staring at the fresh blood stains on his pants, concentrating hard on them, anything to blot out the sounds, helpless stumbles and wet, choking gasps. Then a shadow fell over him and Alex looked up, his eyes widening in horror at the sight of Frank looming over him, a crazed expression on his face, so much blood everywhere. The teen's stomach churned violently and the man fell to his knees, reaching for the young spy's neck - to strangle him? Get revenge?

It didn't matter either way because Frank fell over onto his side before he could reach the spy, a confused, a little frightened look coming into his eyes. Alex stared, frozen to the spot, a bitter taste at the back of his throat. The man was dying. His breathing was slowing down, his face paling more and more, and he just kept _bleeding_, so much, all over the floor.

And then he was dead. Just like that.

Alex took slow, shallow breaths, trying to ignore the thick, metallic scent cloying his nose. The blood on the floor was seeping into his pants, warm and sticky. He pressed himself tighter against the radiator and closed his eyes. He wanted to throw up.

Was this what killing felt like? Because he didn't feel anything. No guilt, no enjoyment, no remorse. Maybe a little relief and disgust.

He tried to stand up, but the handcuff stopped him short, a sharp pain shooting up his arm. The metal had torn the skin all around his wrist. He needed the key. Maybe Frank had it?

He was reluctant to touch the dead man, but there really was no way around it. If someone else found him here like this he'd be screwed. He had to twist his arm and stretch awkwardly to reach the body, but eventually he succeeded. The left pocket was empty. The right one contained a key chain with several keys. Alex saw two that looked like they could belong to the handcuffs, judging by their size.

He carefully scooted back over to the radiator and leaned against it, feeling that his sense of balance was rather precarious right now; the room was still a little fuzzy at the edges and his head was pounding. He only hoped that he didn't have a concussion.

Of the keys the second one fit and the handcuffs came free with a clatter. Alex gave a shaky sigh of relief and carefully flexed his hand, inspecting the damage. He hoped that the torn skin and smeared blood was making it look worse than it was, because yeah, it looked _really_ bad.

Grimacing slightly, he looked around. Now what?

Using the radiator to brace himself, he slowly pushed himself to his feet, blanching as his trousers fell down to his ankles. Right, they were still open. Scowling and decidedly not acknowledging his shaking hands he brought his clothes in order, at least as far as that was possible. The button of his pants was torn off and the bottom half of them were pretty much soaked through, with splatters of blood liberally decorating the rest of his clothes as well. Fuck, he must look like he just walked off the set of a horror movie.

Shuddering in disgust, he used a clean part of the shirt to scrub at his face and hands, trying to get the worst of the blood off. He didn't know what was worse, seeing the red smears of another man's blood on his skin or feeling the fluid drying and cling to him all the more.

That done, he slowly and somewhat shakily made his way to the door, giving Frank's body a wide berth. He didn't want to have to look at it-him-_it_, another second. At the door, he picked up the water bottle, opening it with a clean patch of his shirt to avoid getting it bloody. He still had that thick taste of blood in his mouth, together with something acidic as if he were about to throw up.

He'd just rinsed most of the taste out and was carefully drinking in short sips, the pounding in his head abating a bit, when suddenly the door swung open and Alex found a gun pointed at his face.

He blinked slowly, wondering if this day was ever going to end. He really wanted a break.

Yassen stared at him, looking faintly surprised. Alex averted his eyes and took another sip of water, hoping that the man wouldn't ask any questions. And that he had a plan to get out of here, which, judging by the familiar bag hanging over his shoulder, he probably did. Someone must have picked it up after they'd been carted off. Figures that the Russian would fetch his stuff first and then come to get Alex.

There were several beats of silence and the teen could feel the other's gaze on him, taking in his appearance and the state of the room behind him. He squirmed uncomfortably, wishing Yassen would just say something already so that they could leave.

Finally, the assassin seemed to have come to a conclusion about what had happened and lowered his gun, catching Alex's eyes with his. "Are you hurt?"

The teen started shaking his head, then stopped quickly when the pounding in his head flared up again. "Could be that I have a concussion. I'm not sure."

The Russian gave him a measuring look, then nodded in the direction of the hallway. "We're leaving."

Alex nodded and followed.


	21. Cat

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Summary: Picking up the essentials. Sickness plus trauma makes no clear head.

Date: Jan. 2nd - 2 pm, between _Vacation _and _No Time _(Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 18.12.10**

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21. _Cat_

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Alex woke with a scream in his throat and the feeling of hands all over him.

Without thinking he lashed out, attacking the only source of real contact he registered. His left came up and grabbed a wrist, giving it a sharp yank and twisting, while his right came up for a palm strike and-

Both his hands were caught and suddenly Alex found himself face to face with Yassen. He blinked slowly, feeling dazed and disoriented. His wrists were pounding in unison with his head.

"Awake now?" The Russian didn't exactly look concerned, just... less blank than normal. Whatever it was, it made the man's ice blue eyes seem much more alive.

"Uh... yeah," Alex croaked, his throat dry. He looked down, embarrassed. Yassen's hands were warm, the fingers encircling his wrists. The teen shivered when the man let go of him, the touch of calluses brushing over his raw skin just soft enough to feel good instead of painful.

"I am going to pick up medical supplies. What do you need?"

The teen glanced up in surprise and looked around. They were standing on the parking lot of an apothecary in what looked like a small town. Some kind of large, comic-style cat cut-out was standing in the window and advertising cough sirup for kids. He guessed that it was early afternoon. Had he ever before slept as much as in the last week? He felt like he was losing whole days.

"I, ah..." He ran his hand through his hair to buy some time. It was hard to think and his head just refused to clear up. "Something for the fever. Disinfectants. And bandages for my wrist." He couldn't afford for the wound to get infected.

Yassen nodded, but the intent look didn't vanish. "Any injuries beyond the visible ones?"

It took Alex a moment to understand what the Russian was asking. When he did, he blanched.

"No," he muttered, swallowing thickly. "Just a few bruises."

Frank hadn't gotten far enough to hurt him in that _other_ way. The teen felt incredibly sick just thinking about it. If he hadn't managed to take that bastard's knife... He went even paler.

Yassen's voice startled him out of his thoughts. "If you have to throw up, do it outside."

Alex couldn't stop himself from sticking his bottom lip out just a bit, feeling kind of offended. "I'm not going to throw up. Excuse me for not being limited to the expressive abilities of a stone."

The contract killer raised an eyebrow, a glimmer of amusement entering his eyes. "Indeed you are not. I will be back shortly. Don't leave the car."

The teen quirked an eyebrow, watching the man get out of the car smoothly. "Aw, and here I was thinking about running barefoot all over this nice, slush-covered parking lot. Go and spoil my fun, why don't you?"

He wasn't a hundred percent sure, but he could have sworn Yassen gave a quiet huff of laughter. "We all have to make sacrifices."

He closed the door and Alex let his gaze trail after the man as he crossed the lot. It was strange how - dare he say it? - _nice_ the assassin seemed at times. Almost like he genuinely cared.

...yeah, right. He snorted and shook his head, deciding to try to go back to sleep. It seemed like he was still delirious.


	22. Mother Nature

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Summary: Escape and dealing with the most pressing issues first.

Date: Jan. 1st - 10.30 pm, between _Fortitude _and _Rainbow _(Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 17.12.10**

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22. _Mother Nature_

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His pants kept slipping.

Maybe that wasn't the most important thing to focus on between the fact that he had blood sticking to his hands, he was running barefeet through the falling snow, he had just killed a man [_but was that really anything new?_] and he was depending on an infamous assassin to get them both out of here alive. But at least it kept him from panicking too badly.

He tugged his pants back up. It was really annoying how they kept slipping down. He had already almost face-planted four times, his still kinda precarious hold on his sense of balance not helping the situation at all, and each stumble put Yassen further ahead of him. He was getting hard to see through the darkness and the snow blowing in his face. Today even nature seemed to be against him.

Just when he started to get really worried about being left behind, the Russian stopped by one of the cars parked at the side of the street. Alex would have sighed in relief if he'd had any breath left for that and slowed down a little, only jogging now.

When he caught up with the assassin, the man had already picked the lock on the passenger- wait, no, they were in Germany, he'd picked the lock on the driver's side. Whatever. In any case, he'd gotten the car open and was throwing his bag onto the backseat. Alex found it amusing in a darkly ironic kind of way that the other had first gone to pick up his clothes and laptop before going to get the teen. Though to be fair the man probably just wanted to get his weapons back as quickly as possible before he kept moving through enemy territory.

"Get in," Yassen ordered the second Alex came to a stop next to him and the young spy obeyed, grateful to get his naked feet out of the snow. If he hadn't already been sick he sure as hell would be now.

The assassin did something to the ignition; probably short-circuiting it. The teen couldn't pay it any attention just then. Instead he was busy shaking the snow out of his hair and from his clothes, after which he curled his frozen feet underneath him and turned the heat up to the highest setting before the engine was even running. Once that was done though he caught sight of his hands again, the smeared blotches of blood he hadn't managed to get off. He slumped back in his seat and tried to breathe evenly. It was a lot harder not to panic when he couldn't distract himself with running or slipping clothes anymore.

The car started and they pulled out onto the street.

"Change and get cleaned up. There are clothes in my bag." Yassen was alternately staring at the street ahead of them or checking the mirrors, but Alex nodded anyway.

It was a little awkward to twist around and get the bag, but he managed. Before opening it he threw the assassin a questioning look, but as he got no reaction, he shrugged and went ahead. A short search revealed a few clothes, the laptop, two handguns, a silencer for one of said guns and several fresh magazine clips. The teen carefully avoided the weapons and got out a black sweater and grey sweatpants.

He cringed as his torn wrist brushed against the cloth of the bag, leaving behind a bloody stain. Great, just... great. That probably wouldn't wash out. He put the bag back onto the seat behind him and then looked at the clothes on his lap, hesitating. He needed to change. But Yassen was right there next to him.

He bit his lip, rubbing the hem of his shirt between slightly trembling fingers. It shouldn't be a big deal. Yassen wouldn't... it didn't matter if he saw. He wouldn't say anything. And it wasn't like Frank got far enough to... He shook the thought off, his hands clenching into fists. It didn't matter that Yassen was there and would see. He had already changed Alex's clothes when the teen was sick. It was no big deal.

And still his pulse fluttered madly when he began to peel his shirt off carefully, the cloth sticking to his skin in a few places. His wrist and shoulder protested the move, but after everything that had happened lately even that didn't really register. He let the shirt drop into the space at his feet, taking a moment to look at himself.

The interior light of the car wasn't all that bright, but enough to make out the dark blotches of freshly blooming bruises scattered over his chest, interspersed with reddish smears of slowly drying blood. On the side of his hip was the worst bruise, the clear shape of a handprint already going blackish-blue. He shuddered as he remembered Frank holding him down, strong fingers digging into his side.

He quickly shook out the sweater and pulled it over his head, not wanting to look at himself anymore. Out of he corner of his eye, he caught Yassen's gaze and froze, his heart skipping a beat. His hands' trembling worsened and he swallowed, a bitter taste in his mouth. Then the assassin turned back to the street and the teen exhaled shakily, his face burning with shame. God, he was such a mess.

Wrestling the pants off was more difficult, both because of the lack of space and because the wet fabric clung to his skin. Eventually he succeeded though and threw the jeans down to his feet, grimacing at the sight of his legs. There was more blood where it had soaked into the hem of his trousers, wet red streaks around his ankles and calves. He grabbed his discarded shirt and scrubbed at the smears, getting most of them off.

His stomach was churning uncomfortably when he was finished, but he didn't even remember the last time he had eaten something and so there was nothing for him to throw up at least. He only gave his thighs a quick inspection, but beyond the expected bruises and a few scrapes there was nothing too bad. The worst of it was the large, rapidly-darkening bruise on his left inner thigh, though he couldn't even remember when that had happened, and the already puple-blue handprint on his hip. Beyond that, only his wrists and his head seemed to have suffered.

He quickly slipped into the too big but comfy sweatpants and curled up on his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. Throughout it all, Yassen hadn't said a word, and Alex didn't want to know whether the other had taken another look at him. He'd be quite happy to never mention these bruises again until they had all gone away and he could forget about them.

He curled up tighter, shivering from the cold, and looked around, searching for something to occupy his thoughts.

They were speeding down some random country road, and judging by how fast the shadows of the trees whizzed past, the teen preferred not to know exactly how fast they were going. He wouldn't have minded normally, but it was night, it was snowing, the street was covered in ice and he had really had enough for one day. He quickly looked away before he could snap at the Russian to slow the fuck down.

He closed his eyes and carefully felt along the back of his head, giving a low hiss as he found the wound. The assassin glanced at him. "How bad is it?"

Alex's fingers came away with a few flecks of blood, but it didn't feel like it would need stitching or anything. "It's not bleeding anymore. Probably just a bump."

"Concussion?" Another look out of the corner of the other's eye. The teen wanted to fidget.

"No. I'm fine." Only that he was so very obviously not. Luckily, the man didn't say anything, choosing instead to return his attention to the street.

Alex fingered the cloth of the long-sleeved shirt between his fingers, absently noticing that it smelled like the Russian. His jeans had been the last of his own clothes he had owned. Now even those were completely trashed. Alex felt a hysterical giggle bubble up and bit the inside of his cheek to suppress it. He was not going to do this now. If he had any say in the matter he would _never_ do this. And especially not in front of Yassen.

Something about his jeans kept nagging at him. But they had taken his phone from him and he had no idea what had happened to his wallet and passport. He wasn't carrying around anything else, was he? Frowning, he picked up the trousers and checked the pockets. No, they were empty. But there was something...

He stopped short, the memory coming back in a flash. The inner pockets of the jeans were very small and tight, but the white, non-descript keycard had fit into the right one perfectly. He slipped it out and held it up to the light, giving it a considering look.

The numbers on the front side still didn't tell him anything. Aside from the magnetic stripe the back was blank. He'd need a card reader to find out anything about this thing and with his luck, it'd turn out to be either the access card to an atomic bomb or Barner's health insurance.

Suddenly Yassen hit the brake and Alex squeaked, bringing his hands up just in time to catch himself on the dashboard. His wrist sent a painful jolt all the way up into his shoulder.

"What the hell?" he snapped at the assassin.

Yassen didn't answer and instead pulled over to the side, bringing the car to a stop.

"What's wrong?" he tried again. He was starting to feel uneasy. Did he miss something? What was going on?

In answer, the Russian snatched the card out of his hand and examined it intently. Yeah, Alex definitely had a bad feeling about this.

"Where did you get this?" the man asked sharply.

The teen felt like banging his head against the window. "Don't tell me it's the activation card to an atomic bomb or something." The look the assassin gave him was more than a little acidic and he relented, explaining, "My partner had it. I accidentally took his coat. Why? What is it?"

Yassen gave him a long, unreadable look. Then he leaned back in his seat and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up. "This card is the reason Weller is hunting us down." The Russian flipped the card into Alex's lap. "It's got the access codes to his private server. All the information about his business transactions and partners is saved there. Your agency would love to get their hands on this."

The teen looked down at the white card lying innocently in his lap and blinked. "Oh."

The assassin nodded and pulled back onto the street, a strange expression on his face. He seemed to be torn between amusement and exasperation. Alex picked the card up and gave it another look. So this was the reason for everything that had happened since the moment MI6 had practically kidnapped him off the street. This was the reason he had been chased through the city, shot at, almost drowned, died of exposure and then nearly got... otherwise attacked.

He was extremely tempted to throw the goddamned thing out of the window.

He bit his lip and seriously considered just getting rid of the card and then pretending that he'd never had it in the first place, but in the end he sighed and slipped it into the pocket of his sweatpants.

This thing better be worth all the shit he was going through.


	23. Vacation

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Summary: There's really nothing to do but talk when you're driving for hours on end.

Author's Notes: Alex is dealing with the whole thing by not dealing with it. Right now he's pretending everything is just peachy and he only has a little cold.

Date: Jan. 2nd - 9 am, between _Rainbow _and _Cat _(Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 18.12.10**

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23. _Vacation_

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"Oh, hey, look!" Alex fished a travel brochure out of the grocery bag Yassen had brought back from the store and waved it at the man.

The assassin threw him a dubious look. Alex ignored it.

They were driving again, slowly making their way across the country on small, little used streets. The teen still had no idea where they were going and he didn't feel up to asking just yet.

"They're offering last minute flights. One week in Turkey for 200€. I bet the hotel's just about the cheapest dive they could find."

Yassen didn't react. The young spy decided to interpret his silence as a wish to know more about the offered holiday destinations.

"There's also an offer for two weeks in India. Have you ever been there?"

No answer. The teen sighed quietly and turned the page. He blinked.

"Prague. I've been there once with Ian." Strolling through the streets, talking about Oliver Twist and the Artful Dodger. He smiled a little, but it wasn't entirely happy. "He taught me how to pickpocket there."

That finally seemed to catch the assassin's attention. "What else did he teach you?"

Alex looked at the man, a little surprised, but Yassen's eyes were still fixed on the street. What, did he want the teen to start counting off everything Ian had ever taught him? Well, he sure as hell wasn't about to do that. Instead he shrugged uncomfortably and looked out at the trees rushing past. "Anything he thought could be useful."

Stealing, lying, surfing, snowboarding, diving, climbing, driving, fighting, several languages, how to hide, how to look like you have every right to be wherever you're sneaking around right then, dealing with money, cooking... A whole slew of eclectic skills. He used to think that Ian just wanted him to be as self-reliant as possible, but in retrospect, it was painfully obvious what his uncle had tried to mould him into all his life.

"Is that why you work for MI6? Because your uncle wanted you to?"

Yassen's tone of voice made Alex sit up and take notice. He wouldn't have caught it if he hadn't spent several hours in the man's company already, but he had, and he was pretty sure that the assassin sounded half curious, half disapproving just then. What, did he think it was all fun and games for the teen, prancing around as a spy instead of going back to school?

He scowled, surprised himself by how offended he was. He hadn't thought the man's opinion would matter to him. "No. If I had a say in the matter I wouldn't have anything to do with them."

For the first time, Yassen glanced away from the street and at Alex. "Then why do you?"

The young spy was quiet for a while, thinking about his answer. He could say that he was doing it for his country. He could say that he was doing it for the kicks. He could say that he wanted to follow in his father's and uncle's footsteps. What the Russian thought _shouldn't_ matter to him, so why tell him the truth? But then again, why not? He'd never made a secret of the fact that MI6 was blackmailing him. And it wasn't like anyone but Jack had ever cared. The worst the assassin could do was laugh at him or something.

[_Only that Yassen had cared so much already and Alex wanted..._]

The teen gritted his teeth and crossed his arms, his shoulders tense. "After my uncle died they kept him on the books to keep my records sealed. There're some pretty questionable things I was involved in over the last couple of months because of the agency. They're holding that over my head."

His hands were clenched so tightly that he felt his short fingernails digging into his palms and he scowled darkly. Just thinking about his situation made him furious, and he hadn't even mentioned half of the other shit they had threatened him with.

"How did they get you into this in the first place?"

Of course Yassen had to pick up on his omission right away. He sighed and sunk deeper into his seat, blankly staring ahead into the bleak morning. "Why d'you even want to know?"

He didn't want to talk about this. Especially not with Yassen, who was at least partly at fault for assassinating Ian in the first place. And _that_? Yeah, that was one issue he definitely did not want to even start thinking about right now.

When no answer came forth for several seconds Alex glanced at the Russian, his frown turning into surprise as he saw the other's expression. The usually so cold ice-blue eyes had gone dark and stormy, pale lips pressed together into a thin line, and the teen felt his breath stutter in his chest. [_What...?_] In what little experience he had it was very rare for the man to show much of any emotion, and now that he did, he found himself completely unable to interpret it. Was Yassen angry at him?

Then the man let out a deep breath and his features smoothed out. "You don't have to tell me, but I would like to know."

It was not an answer to his question, but as close to a please as the man was likely ever going to get. Before he quite knew it the words were spilling out, "It... it started when my uncle died."

He hesitated, slightly disbelieving that he was really explaining this just because Yassen had asked nicely.

"He left my guardianship to the bank MI6 uses as a front, I don't know why." He wasn't sure the answer would be any better than not knowing either. "At the time my housekeeper's passport had run out and they threatened to get her deported if I didn't go along with their plan. Jack's... she's pretty much the only family I have left." He stared out the window, refusing to let his voice waver. "There wasn't much of a choice."

He fell silent and Yassen didn't push for more. Alex was grateful, especially since he was certain he'd end up telling the Russian more than he really wanted to if the man continued asking.

He didn't usually go around spilling his guts to everyone who asked - Jack often said getting anything out of him was like pulling teeth - but with Yassen... It was different. Somehow. Maybe because the assassin was part of this world as well and would understand. He wouldn't be shocked and outraged by the thought of a legal organization using threats and blackmail to make someone compliant. He wouldn't try to push Alex into going to the police or making the story public. He would just listen and understand and maybe if the spy got lucky the Russian would even have some kind of idea as to how to get out of this mess.

The teen shifted in his seat and leaned his aching head back against the cool window, turning so that there was no pressure on his right shoulder. He was getting sleepy again and when he glanced at the other from beneath his lashes he thought that he wasn't the only one who looked tired.

Yassen was pale, dark circles beneath his eyes, and the teen noticed a light blue bruise at the edge of his jaw. The teen wondered what poor shmuck had gotten unlucky enough to hit the assassin in the face. Alex got the impression that the Russian was a firm believer in excessive retribution.

So if he had interfered with the assassin's work again and again, how come that he was still alive? How come that Yassen was actively helping him? That first time with Sayle he had told Alex that he hadn't had any orders pertaining to him... but after that? Even if Yassen felt that he owed John Rider something, he had gone way beyond this by now.

The young spy tugged his sweater up over his cold nose and got comfortable to sleep again. His mind was just running in circles right now anyway, might as well catch up on some rest instead of waste the time. But speaking of rest...

"Are we going to stop somewhere soon?" He really wanted to take a shower. He was sticky and dirty. He could feel Yassen's gaze on him and wondered what the man saw.

"No."

He curled his legs up beneath him onto the seat and frowned a little. "But you are tired. I'd prefer not to get into an accident." 'And you look like death warmed over', but he couldn't say that.

"I'm a good driver," came the deadpan reply.

"That's what they all say," he commented loftily, a slight smile twisting his lips.

There was a quiet snort. "We will stop once we have crossed the border."

The teen hummed in answer and snuggled down into the seat. He had no idea which border Yassen was even talking about, but then he figured that it wasn't really that important anyway. The assassin had dragged him along this far, so Alex trusted him not to suddenly throw him out and abandon him on the side of the street.


	24. No Time

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Summary: Fraying at the edges, but still holding it together.

Date: Jan. 2nd - 3 pm, between _Cat _and _Tears _(Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 19.12.10**

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24. _No Time_

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Alex was getting sick of driving.

He had swallowed a few painkillers and finally eaten something, but now he was becoming increasingly aware of the state he was in. He was dirty, sticky and sweaty. He hadn't managed to get all of the blood off, especially not from under his nails. He had gotten most of the blood on his face off at least, but he could still feel it clinging to his face.

Simply put, he needed a shower, _badly_.

"When are we going to stop?" He tried not to sound whiny, but it still came out like a complaint, making him wince. Furthermore, his question was wasted anyway, seeing as there was no reply. He sighed, sinking low into his seat. He had learned by now that silence was about the equivalent to 'You're being annoying, shut up.' He supposed that he should just be grateful that Yassen put up with him at all.

Alex went back to staring out of the window, resigning himself to waiting until the assassin thought they could take a break.

To his surprise, not even half an hour passed before Yassen left the street and turned onto the parking lot of a motel. The teen threw the man a questioning look, but the Russian appeared to be ignoring him. A little bewildered, he watched as Yassen took his bag from the backseat and got out of the car. What, where they staying here?

Hesitantly, he unbuckled his seatbelt, but before he could open his door the assassin already ordered, "Stay in the car."

"Geez, somebody's in a bad mood," he muttered to himself, miffed. He sunk back into his seat and watched as the man went into the motel. 'Stay in the car' was fast becoming the Russian's favourite phrase, wasn't it? If he thought he could spend the night in the motel while Alex waited in the car like an obedient dog he had better think again. The spy had slept in more uncomfortable places than this, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't choose a nice comfy motel bed over a car.

Over the next fifteen minutes his mood grew progressively worse until he was seriously contemplating following Yassen into the building. Or maybe hijacking the car and driving away. Wouldn't that piss the assassin off if he came back and Alex and the car were gone? Though he preferred not to think about what the man could do to him in revenge. The Russian was seriously intimidating most of the time.

But damn, just how long did that prick plan to make him wait here? And he hadn't even told Alex what he was going to do. For all the teen knew he could be in there murdering everyone to make sure they wouldn't be recognized.

Alex snorted at himself.

Yassen was a contract killer, but the teen didn't think that the man went around randomly killing people. Unless he got paid to or had a good reason he didn't get anything out of murdering someone, after all. The young spy wondered what kind of life that was, always traveling from one place to the next, leaving a trail of corpses behind...

He shuddered as he remembered the frozen expression of fear and surprise on Frank's face. How could the Russian do this regularly and not feel anything?

It was getting cold in the car, so he tugged the sleeves of the sweater over his hands and the collar up over his nose. It still smelled like Yassen, some kind of aftershave with an undefinable underlying hint of _something_. Whatever it was, it was nice. The scent was quickly becoming a piece of familiarity in the mess his life had become recently, and wasn't that just a scary thought?

He must have dozed off because the next thing he knew Yassen was knocking against his window, startling him awake. He straightened up and opened the door.

"Wha-" He stopped to clear his throat. "What is it?"

The Russian nodded in the direction of the motel. "We have a room for the next two hours."

Alex nodded and got out, making a face as he had to put his naked feet into the dirty snow-slush. He had lost his shoes before and each time it happened he appreciated anew just how useful they were. The assassin had already turned around and was walking towards the motel in groundeating strides. It was kind of fascinating how Yassen could move so fast and still look like he wasn't hurrying at all.

Unfortunately, the same didn't apply to Alex and he definitely had to hurry as he followed the man across the parking lot, a disgruntled frown on his face. The lobby was empty when they came in, but in the hallway a young woman came in their direction.

The teen averted his face and walked a little closer to the Russian, who didn't seem happy about unexpectedly having a witness there at all. Hopefully she wouldn't notice his lack of shoes and dishevelled clothes and the blood and... everything, really. He tensed when he felt her eyes on him, scrutinizing him closely, and he quickly glanced at her to gauge her reaction. At first she looked a little surprised, then shocked, and then she directed a positively furious glare at Yassen. Fuck.

He walked a little faster and averted his face, hoping she wouldn't call the police on them or something. The way he looked she must have thought Yassen was beating him.

It was barely noticable, but the Russian hurried as well as he unlocked the door to room number seven, probably because the woman had actually stopped at the end of the corridor and was watching them. Alex _really_ hoped that she'd just forget about them. Someone giving a description of the pair of them traveling together was the last thing either of them needed.

The room was small and only had one bed, but it wasn't like they were planning to sleep here, so it didn't matter. What _did_ matter were the pile of medical supplies on the bed and the bathroom with a shower cubicle inside. He went straight for it, desperate to get warm and clean.

"I'm going to take a shower," he called over his shoulder, only just catching the other's nod as he closed the door behind himself. He checked twice that it was locked.

He undressed quickly, unwound the bandage and then stepped into the shower. For what felt like the first time in days he relaxed completely, the tension falling off of his shoulders as the warm water chased the cold out of his limbs. His shoulder and wrist were stinging, but he didn't pay it much heed, instead busying himself with getting all the filth off of him.

He would have loved to stay in there for the whole two hours or even longer, but he knew that there was no time. Reluctantly he got out of the small shower and dried himself off with one of the small towels, feeling infinitely better than just twenty minutes earlier. He caught sight of himself in the mirror above the sink and grimaced.

Half his face was black and blue where Frank had hit him and while he had noticed the pain, he hadn't thought it was quite this bad. No wonder the woman had reacted like she had; if Alex had known he would have made more of an effort to hide his state.

A little worried that he had missed an injury in his earlier self-assessment he checked himself over thoroughly; he wasn't doing himself any favours if he neglected taking care of his wounds. The bruises littering his chest and thighs had gotten darker over the last few hours, but he knew that they were the kind that would heal in a few days. The hand-shaped bruises on his hip and inner thigh were worse, the kind of purple-black that told him that they'd likely stay with him for weeks. His stomach lurched at the thought.

His right wrist was swollen and the torn skin looked rather ugly, while his left wrist clearly showed were Frank's fingers had dug into his flesh. Seemed like the bastard had left quite the impression on him.

He averted his eyes and looked back up at the mirror, starting to feel rather ill. Was there a single part of him Frank hadn't marked somehow? He braced himself on the sink and looked into his fever-bright eyes. He was so sick of seeing that vulnerable expression on his own face.

He clenched his hands into fists and closed his eyes, barely keeping himself in check. He wanted to hit something, but at this point he'd only injure himself further.

Needing to distract himself he pushed off the sink and bent down to pick up his - well, Yassen's - clothes. When he straightened up again he caught sight of the side of his neck in the mirror. There was a hickey just beneath the edge of his jaw.

In a flash he was bent over the toilet and throwing up what little food he had eaten that day.

Fuck. Just... _fuck_.

He heaved again, his stomach clenching painfully, and closed his burning eyes. This wasn't supposed to happen. This whole thing... it just- hadn't been supposed to happen. He could deal with being shot at, hunted by crazy murderers, standing next to atomic bombs and even dying just didn't seem such a big deal after all the times he had come close to it. But he wasn't supposed to have to be able to deal with this.

A tear slowly slipped down his face and dropped onto the toilet seat, his shoulders tense and trembling with the effort of holding back. Why was it always him? Why did this shit always happen to him?

Suddenly there was a knock at the door, startling him badly.

Yassen's voice came from the other side of the wood. "Will you be done soon?"

He swallowed thickly, grimacing at the taste. Right, now was not the time to wallow in self-pity. "Yeah," he called back and hastily rubbed at his face. "I'll be right out!"

He hurried through getting dressed and cleaning up the bathroom, then reluctantly unlocked the door and stepped out. He hadn't put on a shirt because the graze on his shoulder needed to be re-dressed and he met Yassen's thoughtful gaze, feeling both exposed and secure in the knowledge that the assassin had no reason to hurt him.

"Bathroom's free," the teen muttered.

Yassen nodded and went to get cleaned up.


	25. Trouble Lurking

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Summary: Coming home.

Date: Jan. 4th - late afternoon (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 22.12.10**

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25. _Trouble Lurking_

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He stared at the door, feeling oddly reluctant to ring the bell. Somewhere on the other side was Jack, probably sick with worry and exhaustion. She'd be so happy to see him again. And the thought of getting back home had been the only thing keeping him going a lot of the time this last week. It was rather irrational that he was hesitating now.

He placed his finger on the doorbell but didn't press it yet.

Until early this morning he had been at Yassen's flat, or safe house, or whatever one wanted to call it. As always, it was bewildering to think that the week of constantly being hunted and staying on guard was finally over. It felt too good to be true, as if he'd wake up any moment and find himself having to run again.

He bit his lip and rang the bell.

For a few seconds there was silence, then he heard footsteps rushing towards the door and a moment later it was thrown wide open. Jack stared at him, a mixture of joy and disbelief on her face. He smiled awkwardly. "Hey."

"Alex!" she shrieked. "Oh my god, Alex!"

He couldn't even think up an answer for that before she had thrown her arms around his neck, clinging tightly. He grimaced as one of her hands pressed onto his shoulder but hugged her back just as hard. He felt nearly sick with relief to finally be home.

"Jack," he murmured, resting his head against her shoulder.

"God, Alex, do you have any idea how worried I was?" she babbled into his ear. "I'm so, so happy that you're alright! Where were you? Why didn't you call? When MI6 said they had lost contact with you..." She sniffled a little and pressed him closer.

Alex closed his eyes, heavy guilt settling into his stomach. Jack really was wonderful. She didn't deserve the shit he put her through. "I'm sorry, Jack, I..."

"Oh, whatever!" she interrupted. "Let's get you inside before we give the neighbours even more of a show."

He smiled and let her drag him inside and into the kitchen, where he dropped his bag and sat down at the counter.

"And what you look like!" she exclaimed once she saw him in the light. She went for the first aid cupboard right away. "Where are you hurt? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

He grinned, cheered by the simple familiarity of her worry. "No, it's fine. We can take care of it at home."

"Hmm, if you say so." She frowned at the bruise on his cheek, then suddenly seemed to stop short. "Now where the hell were you? They said they lost you somewhere in Germany and then they refused to tell me anything more but they just keep _calling_ every other hour and it's driving me crazy! How did you get back to London?"

He frowned in dismay. "They keep calling?"

She waved him off. "They just want to know if you've contacted me or anything. But that doesn't matter right now, more important is that you're okay. What happened?"

He chuckled wryly and closed his eyes, letting her warm hands rub some kind of salve onto his face. "I'm fine, Jack, really. I found my partner dead and made a run for it. It just took me a couple of days to get home because I was trying to keep a low profile and had a bit of a fever," he explained, carefully editing out more than half... well, three fourths of the story.

"You had a fever?" Her hand was placed on his forehead. "You still do! What are you even doing up?" She gestured towards the stairs. "Shoo, up, get into bed. I'll bring you something to eat and drink and then-"

The phone rang.

"Oh, for god's sake," Jack rolled her eyes. "It's them again. Just ignore it."

He stood up and shook his head, biting his lip. "Maybe, uhm... I think I'd better take the call."

She looked both worried and resigned. "Okay, fine. Talk to them and tell them you're here, but then it's straight to bed with you, mister."

He fingered the keycard in his pocket and nodded, knowing that he couldn't promise that and wanting to anyway. "Yeah. Okay."


	26. Tears

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Summary: When you are desperate for comfort you take pretty much anything you can get.

Author's Notes: Thanks to the people who left me those awesome reviews, I love reading what you guys have to say. Oh, and after this things are going to get better for Alex. This is pretty much his lowest point in this story arch.

Date: Jan. 2nd - 4.40 pm, between _No Time _and _Sorrow_ (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 23.12.10**

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26. _Tears_

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After Alex had taken care of his injuries and swallowed something against the fever he curled up under the blanket. He was getting cold again and as long as there was a bed it'd be a shame not to make use of it, right?

His shoulder was twinging, a persistent, deep-seated ache. He couldn't remember if his last graze shot had hurt like this too and hoped that it wasn't getting infected. He'd ask Yassen about what he thought later, when he helped him to bandage the wound again. Alex could try to do it himself, but he couldn't reach it properly and his right wrist felt stiff and numb. He'd do himself more harm than good right now.

The sound of the running shower was soothing and soon he was dozing off, turning onto his left side to get more comfortable. The blanket was thick and heavy, keeping him warm despite the fact that he was only half-dressed. The last time he'd been lying down the stone floor beneath his back had been so cold it made his skin burn. [_Frank's hands had been warm._]

Suddenly the blanket was suffocating him and he scrambled to sit up against the headboard, kicking the covers off. He was panting as if he'd run a marathon.

"Fuck." He pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, feeling the burn returning. Why couldn't he just forget about this shit already? It wasn't a big deal, nothing had happened! Lots of people had hurt him in the past and the memory of them had never followed him out of his nightmares. There was no reason why Frank should be any different. And he had showered! All the blood was off! There was no reason to still feel like...

He swallowed thickly, his stomach churning dangerously. "This is so messed up," he whispered to himself. This whole situation was just one huge mess. _He _was one huge mess. He didn't know what to do.

He tried to blink the tears away, but instead they started running down his face. Didn't matter, he wasn't really crying, he had no reason to cry. He was fine. Frank hadn't gotten to do what he had wanted to. Alex had stopped him. There was no reason to be freaking out about this. Frank was dead. He couldn't touch him again.

He curled up tightly and hugged his knees to his chest, trying to keep any noise from escaping. His chest hurt. He wanted... He wanted to be home, in his bed. He wanted Jack to hug him and tell him everything would be fine, then start telling him about her day. Normal, everyday stuff. Who knew, maybe she'd met a new guy since he had left last week? [_Was it really only a week?_] And Sabina was going back to America in a few days. Alex had hoped that he'd be able to see her at least once more before she had to leave again.

But here he was, in some random motel room somewhere near the German-French border, cowering in a someone else's bed. He felt incredibly alone.

It was cool in the room and his hair was still wet from showering, so it was no surprise that he could soon add shivering to the long list of things that were making him miserable at the moment. His head was pounding and his throat felt sore, his flushed face just about the only warm body-part he had left. That was why he hated crying. People always said that it was a way to let the pain out, but really, it only made you more miserable and let everyone around you know that you were weak to boot.

Suddenly angry, he scrubbed at his face and tried to force his breath under control. The way he was letting himself go was pathetic. What would Ian think of him? Here he was, crying his eyes out just because some bastard had tried to... to ra...

Fuck, he couldn't even think it.

He pressed a hand against his mouth, muffling another sob that tried to break free. Okay, so maybe it wasn't nothing, maybe he wasn't okay, maybe he wasn't- _couldn't_...

...but he wanted to so badly.

He felt so small just then, so helpless. What if next time he wouldn't be able to stop the one attacking him? He remembered the hands roving over his chest, holding him down, pawing at his naked skin. What if next time it wouldn't stop at that? Frank had been so heavy on top of him, so much stronger. The memory of feeling the man's hard arousal against his leg crowded in, making him gag, his stomach clenching. Oh god, he was going to throw up again.

He scrambled off the bed and staggered towards the bathroom, not pausing to think as he hammered against the thin wood. It only took seconds for the door to open and he pushed past Yassen, not hearing a word the other said as he reached the toilet and retched, throwing up what little food hadn't gone the first time. His stomach hurt and his throat burned, his mouth tasting like acid, and he heaved again, though nothing more would come up. He waited, coughing and gasping for breath, but slowly his stomach settled and with the tension all strength left him too, his knees simply giving out beneath him.

He clenched his eyes shut, prepared for the painful landing, but instead he was caught beneath the arms and carefully lowered to the floor, large hands radiating warmth against his chilled skin. His already unsteady breath hitched and he flinched, remembering the last time he had felt warm hands on cold skin and he was right back where he had started, with burning eyes and tears threatening to spill. He desperately hoped that Yassen would just leave him alone, he wasn't strong enough to pull himself together right then and he didn't want the Russian to see him being so pathetic.

The hands vanished and he heard the man get something from the other room, but he just didn't have the energy to move or even look what the other was doing. He'd be perfectly happy to curl up in the corner and sleep for the next three days, cold floor or not.

The other touched his shoulder and a bottle of water was presented to him. He blinked slowly, feeling dazed and muzzy, his thoughts moving sluggishly around the pounding in his head. God, he _hated_ crying.

He grasped the bottle and rinsed his mouth out before drinking a bit, still careful not to look up. He didn't want to see whatever expression Yassen had on his face, be it scorn, annoyance, disgust, or maybe even pity. Though that would still be better than nothing at all, and so he didn't look, choosing instead to stare at the trembling hands in his lap and concentrate on breathing.

The hand was still on his shoulder. It was warm and just... _there_. No pressure, no reason or special motivation behind it. Not like Frank had touched him. He tried to relax his tense muscles.

"You are freezing. You should go back to bed."

The Russian sounded strange and Alex didn't know what to make of it. What was he thinking? Was he annoyed that the teen was being so pathetic? He didn't answer and let the man help him to his feet, grateful for the hands that steadied him when he stumbled. It didn't feel bad. He had been afraid that he would keep flinching whenever someone touched him, but this was okay. The man had no reason to hurt him. It was okay, and he just had to keep reminding himself of that.

He let Yassen half guide, half drag him to the bed and sank down on the edge, wondering when he had last been so sick as to need help getting from one room to the next. He hoped he'd get over this soon. Then the Russian stepped away, his hands slipping off the teen's shoulders and Alex startled himself when he reacted, reaching out and catching the assassin's wrist with his right.

He felt the man go stock-still, the muscles beneath his fingertips taut and normally this would have been enough to make him search for cover before things got violent, but this was _Yassen_ and he just really wanted... he didn't even know what. He hesitated for a moment, then bit his lip and looked up.

The Russian was staring down at him, an unreadable look on his face.

Alex swallowed dryly, a 'please' on the tip of his tongue. He had no idea what he wanted to ask for.

Then the other surprised him by placing his free hand on the teen's forehead, making the younger one's eyes slip closed on their own accord. Yassen's skin felt so good on his, his warmth making shivers run down Alex's spine. He leaned into the touch.

"Your fever has risen again." He could hear the frown in the assassin's voice. The spy didn't react, not really surprised by the announcement. He had slept in the car, but that could hardly be counted as real rest. If he went on like this he'd end up in hospital again, this time from sheer exhaustion.

The hand on his forehead moved, slowly combing through his hair and the teen's heart did a weird flip-flop in his chest, a new flush rising to his face. What the...? He hissed when Yassen's fingertips brushed over the bump at the back of his head, carefully feeling at the scabs. The Russian started to lift his still captured limb and Alex let go automatically, holding still when the assassin slipped the second hand into his hair as well, feather-light touches examining the place where he'd practically been punched into the floor.

"It would have been better to stitch this," the contract killer said, his voice startling Alex out of the daze he'd started to fall into. He was leaning forward more and more, exhaustion bowing his shoulders.

"Sorry," he murmured, frustrated that he had fucked up yet again. At this point Yassen had to be wondering how the spy was even still alive with all the stupid mistakes he kept making.

"There is no reason to apologize. The necessary supplies weren't available anyway. Your injuries can be addressed properly once we have reached our destination."

"When's that?" he asked, the words coming out half-slurred. His eyes fell fully closed again, the darkness helping to keep his headache at bay. The fingers kept combing through his hair.

"About six more hours."

Six more hours of driving and then tomorrow they'd go their separate ways again. In not even another 24 hours he'd be home. The thought didn't make him as happy as he thought it should. [_What's wrong with me?_]

Yassen's hands slipped from his hair, down his neck and to his shoulders, coming to rest just at the edge of his wound. He got goosebumps all up his arms and over his back, his skin tingling where the other had brushed over it. It felt weird and embarrassing and Alex kind of wanted the man to do it again, but he refused to think about that fact just then.

"We have to leave in less than an hour. Do you need help with your shoulder?"

He nodded, forcing himself to sit up straighter, the man stepping away from him at the same moment. A little more and he'd have ended up leaning against Yassen's chest. He cleared his throat, suddenly managing to be embarrassed again. "Uh, yeah. I can't reach it right."

The assassin nodded as if nothing unusual had happened in the last few minutes and picked up the first aid kid, rising an eyebrow at Alex when the teen didn't move right away. The spy flushed at the look and quickly turned around to present his back, head swimming with confusion.

He held still while the Russian went through the motions of patching him up, feeling off balance and out of his depth. He couldn't remember the last time he'd let anyone besides Jack [_or Ian_] touch him like this, and yet it was unlike anything he knew. He and Yassen weren't close, but he _did_ kind of trust the man, not to forget that they had some history. They couldn't be called friends, they weren't on the same side by any stretch of the imagination, but they weren't enemies either. He shook his head, bewildered by the whole mess.

The assassin sprayed some kind of disinfectant onto what by now looked like a wide but shallow cut and the spy hissed, instinctively flinching away. Yassen didn't apologize, but he did wait until the teen sat straight again before continuing. Alex bit his lip as the other cleaned the rest of the wound, breathing through the pain. Was it meant to burn like that if it was healing cleanly? He remembered wanting to ask the Russian about that. He turned his head so that he could watch the other out of the corner of his eye. "Is it getting worse?"

The assassin didn't pause in his work, though he did frown slightly. "Part of the scab has torn. It's not healing cleanly."

Just what he'd wanted to hear. It had probably happened during his struggle to throw that bastard off. The hands stopped moving for a moment before continuing noticeably slower. "Are there any other injuries that need to be addressed?"

The teen frowned. "I'm fine. I think my wrist is sprained, but I already bandaged it."

The Russian hummed non-committally, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Alex was puzzled. He didn't think that Yassen was the type to repeat questions needlessly, the man wasn't exactly talkative after all. So why did he ask again? There was no reason to suspect that the teen would keep quiet about an injury.

[_Unless..._] Alex felt himself go tense. Did Yassen think that Frank...? The spy had assumed that the situation had been obvious when the Russian had entered the room, but now that he thought about it... He had been dishevelled, disoriented and beaten up. The button of his pants had been ripped off and there had been blood everywhere. Yassen couldn't know for sure that it had all belonged to Frank, and they had been separated for hours. From what the assassin knew it could have happened. Alex shivered, torn between relief and dread as he thought about what he had managed to avoid.

The Russian finished taping a piece of that weird slick gauze over the wound - to keep the skin from growing together with the cloth or something - and started rewrapping the bandage. The teen hadn't paid attention to it before, but it did seem like the man was making an effort not to touch him while reaching around his chest repeatedly. He didn't know how to feel about that.

Alex shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. "He didn't... you know." Yassen didn't react, just kept wrapping the bandage around him carefully. It unsettled the spy and he tried to explain, "I mean, he tried, but I - he... He had a knife. On his belt. And he let go of - of my hand when he - he let go of my hand. So I... He didn't-" He stopped and exhaled shakily, forcing himself to calm down. He wasn't making any sense. "I stopped him. Nothing happened."

The Russian finished tying the bandage without answering and stepped back. Alex convinced himself to turn around, wanting to see the other's face. Yassen wasn't looking at him, busying himself with packing up the medkit, but there was an undeniable sense of relief about him. The spy quickly looked away again.

After a few seconds, the man stated, "We have about half an hour left. Try to get some rest."

The teen made a non-committal noise and slipped his shirt on... only that it was Yassen's shirt as evidenced by the light scent that lingered. He still couldn't tell what it reminded him of and he was tempted to sniff at the cloth, but that would have been seriously weird. He didn't even want to imagine how the assassin would look at him _then_.

He shook his head, hoping to shake these strange thoughts off as well. "Can we just leave now? I mean, if you want to. Half an hour isn't going to do much and I'd rather just get to wherever it is we're going."

The Russian gave him an inscrutable look, then nodded. "Don't let the receptionist see your face again."

Alex muttered his agreement, remembering her shocked, angry look. It was nice to see that some people genuinely cared about others, but in this case it'd really be better if the woman just forgot about the unfriendly foreign man with the beat up kid in tow.


	27. Foreign

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Summary: Teenaged boys, TMI and denial. Fun times.

Author's Notes: People keep saying that they get confused by the time jumps. I've given you a timeline, I give you the date and I often even give you the exact hour. What more do you want me to do?

Date: Jan. 5th - afternoon, between _Happiness_ and _Precious Treasure_ (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 21.12.10**

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27. _Foreign_

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"Man, you just vanished after the last time we went to the movies! Weren't you invited to that place in Scotland with Sabina's family? Guess that didn't happen, huh?"

Alex grinned wryly and let Tom's babble wash over him. He had called his friend to let him know that he was still alive and the other boy had insisted on seeing Alex in person right away.

"And man, do you remember Kathy Malbridge? She got majorly hot over the hols! You think I have a chance with her?"

The blond shrugged, his smile turning into a smirk. "I guess? As long as you don't introduce her to me, 'cause then she'd forget all about you." He had no idea who Kathy was.

Tom snorted. "Ha. Ha. Very funny, Mister Super-Spy. Just because you got the whole secret agent thing going for you doesn't mean that there aren't still a few girls who like their boyfriends unbruised."

Alex grinned. "If you think so."

They looked at each other before starting to laugh.

"But seriously, I think I'm going to ask her out. She's cool," Tom continued, flushing a little. "Oh, hey! You can help me with that! How did you ask out Sabina?"

Alex blinked in surprise. "Uh, what?"

His friend gave him an impatient look and waved his hand around. "You know, Sabina? Long, dark hair, hot bod', the girl you've been talking about for weeks?"

The blond blinked again. "She's not my girlfriend."

Tom gaped. "What? Seriously? But she was all over you that day we all went to the mall!"

Alex shrugged. "I'm not interested in her like that. We're just friends. Besides, she already went back to the States."

His friend stared at him with big eyes, mouth half-open.

The spy fidgeted uncomfortably, the situation becoming increasingly awkward. "What?"

"Alex, what's _wrong _with you?" Tom finally exploded. "She's, like, the most awesomest girl EVER! She's hot and sporty and makes dirty jokes! She doesn't care that you're younger than her! And that day at the mall she was totally throwing herself at you! I mean, you told me that she even stayed over here for a couple of days. Don't tell me that nothing happened!"

The blond shrugged helplessly, lost for words. "I just... She..."

Tom kept staring at him. "Mate, seriously. She's got it so bad, she'd probably let you get to third base without even batting an eye. Just- I mean, what's your _problem_?"

Get to third base with Sabina? Like... oral sex? He barely stopped himself from making a face. As great as he had heard it was, when he tried to imagine doing that with Sabina, her between his legs, or him putting his mouth anywhere on her... he came to the instant and very clear conclusion that he'd really rather just _not_. So what _was_ wrong with him? He thought Sabina was pretty and he liked her a lot, but the idea of touching her in _that_ way made his stomach clench, and not in the good way. He hadn't thought about it much before, but considering what Tom was saying that definitely was not a normal reaction for someone his age, right? Or maybe he was just confused about his feelings, misinterpreting them?

He frowned and crossed his arms, settling back in his armchair. "Nothing's wrong with me. I dunno. I mean... how can you tell if you like someone?"

Tom grinned. "Ohh, are we gonna talk about our feelings now? Wait, maybe we should first put on our pink fluffy pyjamas and make popcorn or something."

"Oh, stuff it," the blond snorted, a smile tugging at his lips. "Seriously. How do you know if you like someone? Who knows, maybe I've just been a stupid blockhead these last few weeks and if so, isn't it your duty as a good friend to talk some sense into me before I blow all my chances with her?"

The other teen huffed and sprawled out over the couch, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning at the ceiling. "Look, I can't say for sure either, I mean, it's not like there's a manual or something. I guess... you just want to spend time with that person, make them smile, stupid stuff like that."

Alex gave his friend a dubious look. "That's it? I mean, I want to spend time with Jack and make her smile, but I'm sure as hell not crushing on her."

"That'd be freaky. And illegal, I think," Tom snickered. Then his grin turned into a leer. "Kinda hot though."

"Oh, ugh!" The blond reached over and smacked the other's leg. "Please keep your fantasies to yourself, yeah? We're talking about my guardian here."

Tom kept snickering. "She could serve you 'breakfast' in bed..."

Alex grimaced, this time kicking his friend. "God, shut up!"

The other teen laughed, only calming down when the blond kept scowling. "Okay, okay, sorry. But you have to admit, Jack is hot."

Alex glared. Tom laughed again and shook his head. "Sorry, I'll stop, I promise." He sat up and turned to face Alex, crossing his legs on the couch. "Okay. So. Signs that you like someone. Uhm. Well, I kinda tend to make a real idiot of myself when I try to talk to a hot chick. I just open my mouth and stupidity pours out, it really sucks. And, I dunno, I never blush of course, that's a girl thing, but some guys do too, I guess. And, uh... you just think a lot about the person you like, during class or whatever..." The teen trailed off, a thoughtful look on his face, before he grinned. "And of course they give you tingles when they touch you, flip-flopping stomach, occasionally tight pants..."

The blond snorted and rolled his eyes. "Please keep the details to yourself."

"Hey, you asked," Tom snickered.

Alex bit his lip, an unhappy frown on his face. None of these things applied to Sabina. He had always been comfortable and relaxed with her, because why should he be nervous? And, well, he'd thought about her when she'd left, but that had more to do with the fact that she knew about him being a spy and that he felt guilty she had to go through that whole mess with Cray because of him. And tingles...? Uh, no. He remembered that kiss in the kitchen a few weeks ago, the total lack of anything special about it.

Unbidden, he recalled the feeling of Yassen's hands on his chest, his throat, stroking over his skin, warm, firm touches, the ice blue eyes paying attention only to him... He shivered, goosebumps breaking out over his arms.

"Alex?"

He jumped and jerked around from where he had been staring at thin air. Tom was giving him a puzzled look, but it was quickly turning into a teasing grin. "Now who were you thinking about?"

He opened and closed his mouth, his face heating up. Oh hell no. "I wasn't... No one. I wasn't thinking about anyone."

His friend snorted disbelievingly. "Yeaaah, right. Might be more convincing if your face wasn't beet red."

Alex scowled and pressed his hand against his cheek, hoping the colour would go down quickly. There was no reason to blush, it wasn't like he had thought about anything dirty. It was _Yassen_, for heaven's sake, the man was twenty years older than him. And he hadn't been thinking about him like _that_. It was just his head playing tricks on him.

"So? Who was it? Anyone I know? Come on, you can tell me," Tom cajoled, obviously finding this whole thing hilarious.

"I told you, I wasn't thinking about anyone," he repeated stubbornly.

"Sure, that's why you completely spaced out on me," the other teen snickered, still looking at him expectantly.

Alex fidgeted in his armchair. "Look, it was nothing. Just something stupid I remembered."

"If it's just something stupid you can tell me," Tom pointed out.

The blond groaned. "Can't you just let it drop? You don't know them and won't ever meet them, so what's the point?"

"Aha!" The other teen grinned triumphantly. "So there _is_ someone! Did you meet them, you know... on one of your jobs? Ohhh, is it an older woman?"

Alex blew out a breath and sunk lower in his chair, wishing they'd never started talking about this. "Yeah, I met them on the job and no, it wasn't like that. H-She was just checking an injury and absolutely _nothing_ happened. I probably won't ever run into them again anyways." He scowled at his friend, though it came out as more of a pout. "There, happy now?"

"Very much so." Tom had a massive grin on his face. "This totally explains your lack of interest in Sabina too. I mean, she's hot, but she can't compete with an older woman yet. So did she save your ass? Or did you save hers? Is she a foreigner? And why the hell haven't you told me about this?" Suddenly, the boy looked appalled. "Wait! She's French and that's why you haven't told me about her, right? Alex, how could you? She's French! Don't you know what these people do to frogs?"

Alex stared, unable to decide whether he should laugh or slowly back away. He coughed, biting back a grin. "She-" And why the hell hadn't he said 'he'? Yassen was going to kill him if he ever found out. "-is not French. She saved my life, I guess. And we're going to stop talking about this now."

Tom pouted exaggeratedly. "Aww, but Alex! At least tell me what she looks like!"

"Nope. Not talking about this." In big part because Alex really didn't want to try to come up with a description for what a female Yassen could look like. The thought alone... He shuddered.

"Killjoy," the other teen grouched.

The spy shrugged, smiling a little. "You'll get over it. So, Kathy? You want to ask her out?"

Tom lit up right away. "Ohh, yeah! You got any ideas?"

"Uhh..."


	28. Sorrow

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Summary: Misconceptions, unwarranted hostility and random bouts of acting.

Date: Jan. 2nd - 5.40 pm, between _Tears_ and _Under The Rain_ (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 30.12.10**

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28. _Sorrow_

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Since they barely had anything it only took them a few minutes to be ready to go. At the checkout counter the same staff woman that had seen them in the hallway stood, in a bad mood judging by her expression. Alex was careful to keep behind Yassen to hide his state and call as little attention to him as possible.

It turned out he didn't have to bother, though; she was too busy glaring at the Russian in total disgust to spare the teen even a short glance. Alex wasn't sure whether to be amused or alarmed at her hostility.

"We want to check out," the Russian said in flawless French. Alex had noticed that the man's accent grew stronger or weaker depending on his mood and the situation.

"Key, please," the woman snapped, her voice suggesting that she was talking to a bug she wanted to squash beneath her shoes.

Yassen put the key down and turned to leave, not wasting any time with a thank you or goodbye. Smiling slightly at the man's brusque attitude he started to follow, but at the last moment he noticed the woman's attention falling on him for the first time. He automatically turned his face away from her and hurried up, but out of the corner of his eye he could see that it was already too late.

She was staring after him, her expression a mix of anger and sadness, and he was starting to think that he could get away with that when suddenly she must have seen something else because her eyes snapped to Yassen, a repulsed and deeply disgusted air about her. Fuck. Her hand was reaching for the phone, the other balled into a tight fist on the counter. She was going to call the police.

He made a split-second decision.

"Gregor!" he called out, jogging to catch up with the Russian who had stopped short at his shout.

The teen could feel the woman's eyes on his back. He smiled brightly, laid his hand on the man's arm and held on to the fabric. Yassen was looking at him sharply, mind racing behind those cool blue eyes.

"I just remembered, in all this chaos I, well, I haven't even thanked you yet," he started in rapid French. "For - for getting me away from..." He swallowed and dropped his gaze for a moment. "From Uncle Frank. And for driving me across the whole country to my sister like this. I know you're going to a lot of trouble for me."

The Russian gave him an unreadable look. The staff lady's stare was burning into Alex's back.

Then Yassen nodded gravely and laid a hand onto the teen's shoulder, squeezing softly. "You're welcome. I should have noticed sooner that Frank..." He trailed off and sighed heavily, shaking his head in obvious regret.

The woman relaxed, her expression changing. Alex saw her hand slip off the phone out of the corner of his eyes.

"Come on," the assassin said, steering the young spy towards the door. "If we want to reach Angela today we'd better hurry."

The teen nooded and allowed himself to be led out onto the parking lot, making a face as he had to step into the cold snow once more. He needed to get some shoes and his own clothes, seriously.

Once they were back in the car, the assassin immediately put the bag into Alex's lap, making the teen stare at him questioningly.

"There are clothes in here," came the explanation.

The young spy gaped. "You... you _stole_ them?"

Yassen raised an eyebrow, his expression as deadpan as Alex had ever seen it. He flushed and ducked his head, turning his attention to the bag. Inside, he found a shirt, pants, socks and shoes, all roughly his size. He wasn't about to change in front of the Russian again - the first time had been bad enough, no need to repeat that - but he gratefully pulled on the socks at least. His feet already felt frozen solid again.

That done, he sunk back into his seat and sighed. "How come people only ever want to help when the last thing I need is attention?"

He'd asked the question more to himself, not really expecting any reaction, but to his surprise Yassen did answer. "When you behave like you have something to hide it makes people take a closer look."

"So instead of asking for help I should try to act as suspiciously as possible?" Alex grumbled.

"Or simply avoid any situations in which you might need help in the first place," the assassin pointed out with a slight smile.

The teen's frown deepened, sure the man was mocking him. "Right, I suppose letting myself get kidnapped, captured, blackmailed or threatened with torture was a bit stupid of me. I'll try to avoid that stuff from now on."

Yassen raised an eyebrow, though he didn't look away from the street. "You really do get into a surprising amount of trouble."

Alex snorted and sank even lower in his seat. "I'm here, aren't I?"


	29. Happiness

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Summary: Debriefing.

Author's Notes: From here on out there'll be an increasing amount of **Crocodile Tears spoilers**. If you haven't read the book yet you might want to do that first.

Date: Jan. 4th - 7 pm, between _Trouble Lurking_ and _Foreign_ (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 19.12.10**

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29. _Happiness_

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An hour after he had accepted the call Alex found himself standing in front of yet another door, hesitant to knock. He really didn't want to go in there. The receptionist in the lobby had said that he could just go on right up which probably meant that both Jones and Blunt were just waiting to pounce on him and demand information. He took a deep breath, reminded himself that the security guards watching him over camera would start laughing at him if he waited any longer and knocked.

"Come in, Alex."

He entered the office - still as gray and impersonal as ever - and nodded at the two people already in the room. As always, Mr. Blunt sat behind his desk and Mrs. Jones stood to his right, arms crossed.

"Alex," she smiled at him, looking honestly happy to see him. He couldn't bring himself to return the gesture. "When we lost contact with you and your partner we didn't think we'd see you again."

Yeah, and what a tragedy that would have been. They sure as hell didn't look as if they'd lost any sleep worrying about him. He sat down in the chair in front of the desk. "What do you want?"

"Tell us what happened after the gala," Blunt demanded. "The people in the adjacent room noticed raised voices that night. The cleaning lady found Agent Barner dead the next morning and you had vanished."

The chief executive of Special Operations sounded as cold and uninterested in the topic as ever but the implied accusation made Alex bristle in outrage. The pure _nerve _of that man... He took another deep breath and forced himself so speak calmly, "Barner and I had an argument after we got back to the hotel. I left for a while to calm down. When I got back our rooms were ransacked and Barner was dead. I had no way of getting in contact with you, so I ran."

"It took you six days to get back to London," Mrs. Jones stated, clearly wanting an explanation.

The teen shrugged uncomfortably and shifted in his chair. "The men who killed Barner found me after I left the hotel. I ended up in the river and got a bit sick. It made travel difficult." Which was easy to believe, considering that he still looked like death warmed over.

"Your injuries...?" Blunt again. Alex hated how they tag-teamed him every time they talked.

"A few of them caught up to me before I got to the river." He cocked his head to the side, knowing full well that the motion called attention to his bruised face. "As I said, travelling was a bit difficult." Let them draw their own conclusions from that.

Mrs. Jones cleared her throat. "Did you manage to complete the objective before you were found out?"

"It might have helped if anyone had bothered to tell me what the objective _was_," he answered pointedly. "But if I'm guessing right-" He slipped the keycard out of his pocket and held it up between two fingers. "Then you've got reason to be happy anyway." He threw the card onto the desk.

"How did you get this?" Mrs. Jones asked in surprise and picked up the white slip of plastic.

"Took the wrong coat when I first left, I guess," he explained with a shrug.

"Fortunate," Blunt stated non-committally.

Alex didn't entirely agree with that but he had the feeling that if he opened his mouth right now a lot more than a simple 'Not really' would slip out and he was just too tired for this fight. He wanted to go home.

"Are we done here?"

"In a moment. Mrs. Jones, if you would." The chief of Special Operations waved at the keycard.

The woman nodded sharply before smiling at Alex. "It was good to see you again, Alex."

He inclined his head at her and watched as she left. Once she'd closed the door behind her he turned back to Blunt, an eyebrow quirked questioningly.

"Your class is going on a field trip to Greenfields in a few days. There is something we need you to do."

Barely back and they already had his next task lined up for him. But this was what he had agreed to, wasn't it? If you have no way to get out, make the best of what you have. The terms of his contract said that he got breaks between assignments.

"I only got back a few hours ago. This is too soon." There, calm and reasonable. Maybe the man would listen.

"The trip isn't scheduled until the 14th. You have sufficient recuperation time."

Funny how even a contract killer's face was more expressive than the one of this spy master. Alex gnashed his teeth. Counted to ten. Thought about kicking Blunt in the gut until it stopped being funny. Took a deep breath and nodded.

"What do you want me to do?"


	30. Under the Rain

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Summary: Awkward doesn't even begin to cover it.

Date: Jan. 3rd - 0.45 am, between _Sorrow _and _Night_ (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 27.12.10**

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30. _Under the Rain_

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"This is it?"

Alex looked up at the nondescript apartment building, squinting against the mixture of ice and rain blowing in his face. It had been sleeting since they had reached the city, but that hadn't stopped Yassen from abandoning their car in a parking garage, taking the underground to another station, walking a bit, taking a cab, walking again,another trip with the underground... After half an hour Alex was pretty sure they had lost all potential pursuers and he any ability to tell where they were.

Walking a little in front of him Yassen nodded once, not turning to look at him. The Russian's demeanor had gotten increasingly brusque with each passing hour and Alex wondered if he was simply tired or if something else was the matter.

He looked up at the looming building and shivered, crossing his arms tighter. He had changed into the clothes the other had stolen at the motel because they were warmer than the ones he had borrowed but by now he knew that it wouldn't have mattered either way. He was soaked to the skin and at the last underground station he had seen that his fingertips were blue. If he weren't so cold he'd already have fallen asleep where he stood.

Yassen got out a key he had picked up God only knew where and they entered the building, Alex hoping desperately that the lift was working when he saw the staircase; he wasn't sure he'd be able to get up ten flights of stairs, or even just two.

The Russian glanced at him and seemed to come to the same conclusion because he diverted from his path towards the stairs and went straight for the lift. Alex leaned against the metal wall of the small cabin and closed his eyes, grateful for the break. The lift was barely big enough to fit three people and he could feel the warmth emitting from the assassin's body, making goosebumps break out all over his chilled skin. He shuddered.

They got off on the sixth floor and Alex waited while the man opened the first door on the right and went in, turning on a light. So this was it, the young spy thought, stepping into the entrance hall. This was the kind of place a contract killer lived at.

...it looked almost disappointingly normal.

He toed off his shoes and leaned against the doorframe to the first room on the left, the kitchen. Yassen was looking into the cupboards, probably to check what kind of food was there. Even though he had already seen the assassin eat once or twice it was still strange to think that he needed sustenance just like any other normal person.

"Uhm," he started hesitantly. The Russian glanced at him over his shoulder. "Can I help with anything?" He didn't want to be useless, but he also half-hoped that Yassen wouldn't take him up on his offer. He just wanted to curl up on a dry piece of floor and fall asleep as soon as possible.

The assassin turned around and looked at him consideringly, then nodded in the direction of the hall. "Take a shower. The bathroom is the second door on the right."

Alex nodded, relieved, and went to get warm, only glancing into the other two rooms in passing. The big room on the right seemed to be the bedroom, and the door on the left of the bathroom seemed to lead to some kind of cross between a living and a training room. Yassen probably only used it for the latter purpose.

The shower warmed him up considerably, though it also made him more tired than ever. It was a struggle not to fall asleep in the cubicle. When he stumbled out of the bathroom the kitchen was dark, the lights in the hallway and the bedroom the only ones still on. He went to open the door to the bedroom, but then hesitated with his hand on the handle. Was he allowed to go in there? Or was he expected to sleep on the floor? He hadn't seen a couch anywhere...

"Close the door behind you."

He jumped at the unexpected voice, then flushed lightly and quickly went in. Yassen was by the wardrobe, taking out a thick blanket and throwing it onto the bed. Alex noted that it was a double. On the far side of the room there were what must have been glass sliding doors leading out onto a balcony, but they were hidden by heavy, dark blue curtains. The Russian probably didn't want anyone to be able to look into his room.

"Where can I, uhm, sleep?" Damn, this was so awkward.

"The bed." The assassin threw him a deadpan look and the wordless 'where the hell else?' came across loud and clear.

Alex ducked his head, feeling stupid, embarrassed and kind of pissed off to be honest. If Yassen didn't want him here he should just say so and throw him out. He took a few steps closer to the other and frowned. "Then where are you going to sleep?"

For a moment he thought the man was going to say that that wasn't his business, but then the Russian answered, "I will rest later."

Uh. Great. So Alex was effectively kicking Yassen out of his own bed and keeping him from some badly needed rest? He shifted from one foot to the other, uncomfortable. "The bed's big enough for both of us."

Offering a contract killer to share a bed with him? Yeah, they had passed _awkward _and gone straight into _humiliating_ now.

Yassen just looked at him, a strange expression on his face, like he didn't know what to think.

"What?" he snapped. "I'm about to keel over, you're about to keel over, might as well do it somewhere comfortable."

The Russian kept staring at him for several beats, then he seemed to come to a decision. "Go to bed," he ordered before walking past Alex and out of the room, closing the door behind himself. For a second the teen just stood there and listened, half-expecting the sound of a key turning in the lock, but instead he heard the bathroom door open and close. Right, Yassen was completely soaked through as well.

He shivered at the reminder of the the cold and padded over to the bed, his naked feet making no sound on the carpet. He had gotten back into the pants and over-sized shirt he had borrowed from the Russian for lack of anything else to wear. His clothes were hanging over the tub, still dripping wet.

The mattress was softer than he had expected and he bounced a little, smiling to himself. Over the last few months he had become increasingly appreciative of simple things like a comfortable bed, fitting shoes, and being able to move without anything hurting. It was funny how you never really thought about those things until they became an issue.

The sheets were cool but they smelled fresh and he tugged the blanket up over his nose, curling up on his side. Would Yassen decide to sleep in the bed? The man hadn't given any indication one way or the other. Alex stared at the empty half of the mattress, then turned around so that his back was to it. If the man took him up on his offer he didn't want to sleep facing him; who knew what kind of weird expressions he made in his sleep? Though this position was uncomfortable as hell for his shoulder.

He grimaced, then rolled onto his stomach. He didn't like to sleep like this, it took him too long to get up if anyone came at him from behind. But then again, Yassen was the only other person here. If the Russian decided to do anything it wouldn't matter in which position Alex slept.

...which probably wasn't such a smart thing to think about if he wanted to fall asleep anytime soon.

He groaned and buried his face in his pillow, holding his breath. Okay, so there was a possibility that Yassen would decide to sleep next to him. No reason to panic. It was just Yassen. The man wasn't going to kill him for taking up too much space or stealing the blanket or something. It was no big deal. Alex had slept next to almost-strangers before. Sometime. In the past. Probably.

What the hell had he been _thinking_?

"You weren't, that's the problem," he muttered to himself, annoyed. The Russian had told him to take the bed and Alex's unfortunate habit of being contrary had reared its ugly head, coupled with a good amount of guilt for all the trouble he caused the other. Well, no way around it now. He sighed and closed his eyes, determined to stop thinking and just fall asleep.

At first his mind kept throwing random thoughts at him, but soon the sound of the running shower and his own weary body started to drag him under. He didn't even notice anymore when the bed dipped on the other side.


	31. Flowers

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Summary: Back home, back to school, back in trouble. Why is it that he can't even visit his uncle's grave without something happening?

Author's Notes: I've decided that I won't try to rewrite the whole eight book, that'd be too much trouble and besides, I like it just the way ahorz wrote it. Instead I'm going to work around the events of the book, adding some snapshots here and there and telling you exactly where in the book they happen. I'll try to keep things as general as possible so that those who haven't read Crocodile Tears yet won't be spoiled too badly, but here's the official warning: **From here on out there will be an increasing amount of Crocodile Tears references and spoilers. **

Date: Jan. 7th, 15.55 pm (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 7.12.10**

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31. _Flowers_

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"Hey, Ian. How are you doing?"

There were some old, mostly wilted flowers before the stone. He brushed them aside, clearing the grave.

"I know I haven't visited in a while, but I was out of the country again."

He crouched down and braced his elbows on his thighs. Jack was waiting at home and further up on the main path a few kids from his school were cutting through the cemetery on their way home, their voices blending in with the distant sounds of traffic.

He stared at the gray stone for a while, silent. Someone from MI6 had picked it out; they hadn't asked him or Jack, not even about the inscription.

He took a deep breath and slowly let it out again.

"You know, you got me into a lot of trouble. If you hadn't taught me so much I'd already be dead twice over. I hope my parents have given you a good smack for that." He smiled.

"Jack and I are doing okay. I'm catching up in school again, so I probably won't have to repeat the year. Tom's still my friend, and the others I didn't know all that well anyway. But yeah. At least they aren't asking me questions, right?"

He shifted a little and tugged his sleeves over his hands. He'd been back home for a couple of days now, but sometimes it felt like the cold would never leave his bones.

"Jack's been going out with a new guy these last couple of weeks. Peter something. Not sure how serious they are, but he seems pretty nice." And pretty strange judging by the one time he'd seen him, Alex thought with a grin. He had had no idea that Jack liked dreadlocks, but it was rather obvious that she had it bad for the barkeeper.

"Other than that I finally went to Australia. You were right, I didn't like it much." He leaned forward and trailed his hand over the dark earth, wishing he could touch something [_someone_] else. "Should have listened to you, huh?"

"I met Ash there," he continued. "He told me a bit about my parents. How come you never did that? Or were you waiting for me to ask?" He snorted. "'Cause if you were then we were both stupid. I always thought you didn't like talking about dad, so I kept my mouth shut."

"Did you know that dad had a student? And partner too, I guess. His name's Yassen Gregorovich. He's the one who killed you." He fell silent for a while.

"I've met him a few times," he confided quietly. "He saved my life. And he was shot when he refused to kill me. I thought he died that day."

[_A red stain spreading over a thin shirt, a quiet voice whispering secrets to him, breath stuttering in the other's chest_]

"I... I don't know what to do, Ian." His throat felt tight. "I know he killed you. I _know_. I can't ever forget. But... " He swallowed thickly. "He was... he was doing his job, you know? And... and I know what that's like. Doing your job. I've done the same." His voice dropped to a whisper, "There are people who won't ever come home again because of me."

He looked away from the stone and busied his hands with picking at a few blades of grass that were starting to grow at the edge of the grave. They were hard and sharp-edged between his fingers. He tore them to pieces.

"I don't know what to do, Ian," he repeated quietly and crossed his arms on his knees, letting his forehead sink onto them as he fought to keep his breathing under control. "I just don't know. I want to hate him and I want to forgive him. I don't know what's wrong with me." He sniffled quietly, rubbing his damp cheek against his jacket. "I wish you were here."

There was the sound of boots crunching over gravel and he looked up. Three guys, Asian, maybe in their twenties; they were looking at him. A jolt of adrenaline shot through his body.

He swallowed again and looked back at the grave. "I hope you're not mad at me. I miss you."

Then he stood up and turned to the men that had formed a circle around him. He could feel his heart-beat picking up, his muscles tensing in preparation for fight or flight.

"Alex Rider?"

He cocked his head to the side, locked away anything and everything that would distract him from surviving this moment, and turned his eyes to the man who had spoken.

"I'm sorry, my name is James Hale. You've got the wrong person."

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From here on out, events proceed as in Crocodile Tears, British version, page 102.


	32. Night

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Summary: Today's lesson: Startling contract killers is a bad idea.

Date: Jan. 3rd - 3.20 am, after _Under the Rain_ (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

**Edited: 28.12.10**

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32. _Night_

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His own trembling woke him up.

He groaned quietly and shifted closer to the source of warmth at his side, drowsily wondering why Jack had bunched up the heating blanket beside him instead of throwing it over him. His shirt was sticking to his back with sweat and another shiver wracked his body, making him curl up tighter. God, he hated being sick. Where was Jack? What time was it?

He shifted once more and his cheek came to rest against warm skin, someone's upper arm, broad and muscled. He exhaled shakily and relaxed, grateful for the heat seeping into him. When had Ian gotten home? He couldn't remember. It'd been so long since his uncle had last taken care of him when he was sick. In fact, the man hadn't been home since... since...

[_March._]

He jerked upright, inhaling sharply, and three things happened at once.

Number one, his sore throat didn't deal well with the sudden influx of air and he started coughing. Number two, his right wrist was not ready to support his weight and gave out beneath him with a painful stab. Number three, he was slammed into the mattress and a hand closed around his neck, a crushing grip capturing his wrists.

He yelped, but the sound was lost between his coughing and the hold on his neck tightening, cutting off his air. Oh god, he was going to die, there was somebody in his bed and they were going to kill him, he couldn't get away and they were so _heavy_, he couldn't _breathe_, no way to throw them off, just like Frank- Frank.

The escape.

_Yassen_.

He stilled his struggles and forced his body to go limp, his memories finally catching up with him. Oh god, what had he done? He blinked against the darkness, trying to see something beyond the shadowed silhouette on top of him, his chest feeling tighter and tighter, and caught a glint of ice blue eyes.

The hand on his throat vanished and Yassen rolled off of him. Alex made a small sound of relief and frantically scrambled to get away, not caring in the slightest when he fell off the bed with a thud, continuing to put distance between them until there was a wall at his back and he couldn't go any further. Then he couldn't do anything besides coughing and gasping, the burn in his throat making his eyes water. His heart was pounding like mad.

There was a low curse he didn't understand from the other side of the room and the light clicked on. Alex looked up and felt his stomach drop. The Russian was scowling darkly, looking both dishevelled and ready to murder someone.

[_Oh shit_.]

"S-sor-" the teen tried to say, but the words felt like sandpaper on his throat and he was coughing again, unable to get the apology out.

The dark expression changed slightly, becoming more grim than angry, and Yassen circled around the bed, coming to a stop in front of Alex with only a few quick strides and crouching down. The teen flinched back and the assassin hesitated for a moment, then reached for the younger blond's shoulders and made him straighten up.

Alex wasn't entirely sure what to think of the fact that he was once again pinned, this time against the wall, but at least the upright position helped to ease off his cough. When his breathing had mostly returned to normal he finally made himself look up, not all that eager to have to face Yassen's glare once more.

To his surprise, the usual blank expression had returned as if the man had never been angry in the first place. Huh. Now what was he supposed to say to that?

The Russian looked him over appraisingly before asking, "Did I hurt you?"

His wrist was one continuous pounding ache and his throat was on fire every time he breathed too deeply, but he'd brought that upon himself. He shook his head.

Another moment of the man staring at him, then he seemed to make up his mind and stood up. "Sit on the bed. I'll be right back."

Alex waited until Yassen was out of the room before exhaling shakily and fixing his eyes on the bed. The sheets were a mess, one pillow closer to the foot of the bed than the headboard and the blanket halfway on the floor. Figures that where everyone else would think it looked like someone just had great fun there all he could think of was the hand around his neck and the heavy weight on top of him.

His knees felt dangerously wobbly beneath him when he got up and stumbled over to the bed, sinking down on the edge. He was shaking again, the cold sinking its teeth into him even worse now that he didn't have the blanket anymore, and his clothes stuck to his skin uncomfortably. Changing would be smart, but a glance at the clock told him that it was just half past three in the morning and he doubted that his other clothes were dry already. He leaned over and dragged the blanket to his side, wrapping it around his waist. After this whole thing was over he was going to go on a vacation to the Caribbean, seriously.

Yassen came back carrying the med kit and a bottle of water. The man had to be getting pretty sick of fixing Alex up all the time.

"Take off your shirt."

As often as the Russian had seen him topless over the last few days it shouldn't have fazed him anymore; naturally, he felt his face go beet red. He ducked his head and quickly got the shirt off, wanting to just get the whole thing over with and go back to sleep. He'd had what, two hours of rest? And now that the adrenaline was wearing off his body was crashing.

The assassin crouched down in front of him so that they were at the same height. "Does your chest hurt?"

Alex shook his head, feeling a little weird at having to look down to meet the Russian's gaze. "No."

Nevertheless, Yassen started to feel along the teen's collarbones, carefully pressing down. The spy made himself hold very, very still, hoping the other wouldn't look up at his face and notice the faint redness still lingering. The man's hands smoothed along the sides of his neck, up to his shoulders, and Alex's breath hitched, the other's rough fingertips leaving a trail of tingling electricity in their wake. He swallowed, the sting from his sore throat a welcome distraction. "I- Really, I'm fine," he croaked.

Ice blue eyes glanced up at him for a second, then focused back on his body. "This is going to bruise." The man's right hand rested at the juncture of the teen's neck and shoulder, his thumb pressing into the boy's throat, slowly following the forming marks in a line up to just beneath his jaw.

Alex couldn't help but tip his head to the side ever so slightly and he knew that Yassen could feel his racing pulse. His lids felt heavy and he licked his dry lips, a strange fluttery feeling in his stomach. "That's okay," he murmured huskily.

The Russian's gaze snapped up, a flash of surprise breaking the blank mask. "What?"

The teen watched in fascination as the question was immediately followed by the beginnings of a dismayed frown before smoothing back into nothingness. The assassin's self-control was amazing; even looking directly into those piercing eyes it was impossible to guess at what the other was thinking.

"I..." God, he couldn't get a word past his tight throat. The hand on his shoulder was a heavy weight, making him want to lean in. Only a little. Only close enough to...

His shoulders seized and he twisted to the side, a harsh cough forcing its way out of him. He pressed a fist against his mouth, his eyes watering as he felt as if someone was dragging a cheese grater down his throat and all the way into his lungs. It couldn't have lasted longer than ten seconds but by the time he could breathe again he was ready to pass out, the sudden coughing fit having completely sapped him of all strength.

Yassen was standing again, sorting through the first aid box, taking out a blue bottle of pills. He held it out for Alex. "Take those. Two at a time."

The teen nodded, hand still pressed against his lips in case he had to cough again, and reached blindly for the bottle of water. While he choked down two of the pills with a sip of water - the cool liquid felt wonderful on his sore throat - the Russian went over to the wardrobe and got out a fresh shirt and sweatpants. Alex figured that if he kept going through clothes like this the man would be forced to go shopping soon.

"Thanks," he rasped when Yassen handed him the clothes.

The man gave a short nod. "They will be too big but yours are still wet."

Well, when hadn't his clothes been too big lately? The teen just shrugged and slipped into the dark blue sweatshirt. He had to fold back the sleeves several times before his hands were visible. When he looked up again the Russian was standing by the foot of the bed, watching him.

"What?" he asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"You should go back to sleep."

It sounded more like an order than a suggestion, but it wasn't like Alex felt the slightest bit inclined to protest. He shook out the pants, then paused as a thought occurred to him. "What are you going to do?"

Yassen had already half-turned to leave, but he stopped at the teen's question. "I am sufficiently rested."

Alex gave the other a sceptical look, taking in the pale skin, the dark shadows under the man's eyes, the sharply - almost unhealthily - defined cheekbones. The man looked so exhausted, the only thing still keeping him upright must have been pure force of will. Suddenly his chest felt too tight, as if something was pressing down on it. "I can sleep on the floor."

The Russian quirked an eyebrow. "As I said, I do not require more rest. You can stay in the bed."

Biting his lip, the teen hesitated, trying to find the right way to phrase his thoughts. Finally, he gave up and just blurted out, "You look dead on your feet. If you don't want to sleep anymore 'cause I'm in the bed then you can have it. I already slept in the car all day."

They looked at each other and Alex wished the other's face wasn't so goddamn unreadable. Ice blue eyes, sharp and yet blank, the perfectly even mouth giving no indication whatsoever about the man's mood... He wondered what it would take to change that expression, to force a smile onto that stoic face, a flush into those pale cheeks.

"You are sick. Sleep now." Yassen ordered calmly, ignoring the teen's words completely, and turned away, going for the door.

"No!" Alex jumped up quickly, the world tilting dangerously around him and he grabbed onto the bedpost, swaying on his feet. He clenched his eyes shut for a moment and shook his head, opening them again when he was reasonably sure he wasn't going to fall over.

Yassen had frozen halfway to the door and was watching the spy warily.

Alex swallowed thickly, wishing the burn in his throat would let up. "Please don't- Can..." He leaned more heavily on the bedpost, his knuckles turning white, and fixed his gaze on a spot just left of the assassin's legs. His voice was nothing but a hoarse whisper when he finally managed to speak again. "Can you stay?"

The Russian merely stared at him, faintly surprised and appraising, but at least he was still there. The teen went on, his words tripping over each other in his haste to get them out. "I just- I don't... want to be alone here."

And wasn't that embarrassing to admit? His face felt a little hot and he bit his lip, daring a quick glance at the other's face, unable to stand the silence. Yassen seemed undecided, but when their eyes met the man came to a conclusion, his shoulders slumping slightly as he gave the spy a curt nod.

Alex smiled, surprising himself with how relieved he was. "Thank you."

The assassin inclined his head in reply before saying, "Go to bed. I will be back in a moment."

The teen nodded and quickly went about changing his pants before settling himself back under the blanket, grateful for the lingering warmth. Hopefully he'd be able to stay on his half of the bed this time; there had been more than enough drama for one night already. His limbs felt heavy with exhaustion and he closed his eyes, trying to ignore all the little aches and bruises clamouring for his attention. His neck ached dully and he wondered how bad the marks were going to be. Probably not as dark as the ones Conrad had left on him when he'd tried to strangle him, but he wouldn't be surprised if the imprint of Yassen's fingers lingered for a few days.

The light in the hallway was switched off and the assassin came back, turning the light in the bedroom off as well. Alex watched the dark silhouette cross the room, wondering how it was possible for anyone to move so incredibly silently; no swish of clothes, no footsteps, no sound of breathing. If he hadn't seen the man's shadow against the little light the curtains allowed in from the street he would have thought that he was alone.

The bed dipped and Alex held his breath, not moving a muscle while the Russian slipped under the blanket next to him. Okay. So he hadn't actually thought this all through before, but somehow he was now sharing a bed with a contract killer. Oh god, what if he rolled onto the other half of the bed again? Or if he started coughing in his sleep and woke the man up a second time? Well, Yassen wouldn't kill him, but...

Alex sighed and burrowed deeper under the blanket. It was a little late to start worrying now. "Night."

The Russian finished settling in and let out a deep breath. "Night."


	33. Expectations

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Summary: Unwanted praise and undeserved chastisement. The joys of leading a double life.

Author's Note: Double chapter. Why? Because I felt like it. Expectations has two entries in the timeline because there's a bit more than a week between the two scenes.

**Edited: 20.12.10**

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33. _Expectations_

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Date: Jan. 26th (Sunday), just before the start of chapter 25, "Soft Centres" (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

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"You exceeded all our expectations, Alex. I really don't know what to say."

He was sitting propped up in his bed, an extra pillow stuffed against the small of his back to keep the pressure off his shoulders and upper back. Even days later the smallest bit of friction made him feel like the burning oil that had soaked through his shirt and set his skin ablaze was still there.

Mrs Jones waited a few seconds to see if he'd answer before continuing, "The labs came back with with their final estimates. While your actions did cause several million dollars of damage, you also saved hundred thousands of lives. After they were briefed about the situation quite a few of the governments of the potentially affected countries have expressed their wishes to thank the agent involved."

Oh great, he thought with a grimace. More publicity. "What did you tell them?"

The woman smiled thinly. "We were very sorry to inform them that the agent succumbed to the injuries he sustained during his mission. They all offered their sincere condolences."

Alex blinked. "You told everyone I'm dead?"

"You have been marked deceased in every file that mentioned you," Mrs Jones confirmed, looking rather pleased with herself. "It seems that after your transfer to St Dominic's your burns became infected and that, coupled with an old heart injury acting up, was too much for your body to handle."

"Wow." He smiled, half relieved, half incredulous. "That's too bad."

"Yes, it's all quite unfortunate," she agreed, a spark of humour in her dark eyes. Then she became serious. "What it effectively means is that all records of an 'Alex Rider' working for MI6 have been erased and we'll use your uncle's name to deal with your paper work. We tried to get rid of everything we could get at about you, so I hope people will have a harder time getting information about you now."

"Good." That really _would _be an advantage for once. What use was going in undercover if they already had a file on him, like Sarov did, for example?

Mrs Jones nodded her agreement before getting her gloves out of her pocket and starting to put them on. She was getting ready to leave. "Your doctor said that you will be ready to check out on Tuesday, Wednesday at the latest. Once you have had some more time to rest we will call to set up a training schedule with you, as per our agreement. That all right?"

"Yeah." It would have to be.

"Okay. Well, then I'll see you in a week or two." She slung her scarf around her neck and smiled at him. "Trouble seems to find you everywhere, so please be careful. We all want you to get better soon."

She said it like he had some kind of illness, not a fractured ankle, bruises over bruises and a back half-burned to hell. He returned her smile, aware that his own had an edge of sarcasm to it. "I'll try not to get kidnapped again."

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Date: Feb. 5th (Wednesday) - 9.10 am (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

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"I had such high expectations in you, Alex. I really don't know what to say."

The teen stared at the clock above Mr Bray's head and wondered how long he'd have to listen to this. Yeah, so he had missed another two and a half weeks of school; wasn't his fault people thought it was fun to drug him and stuff him in a van.

"After our talk back in December I thought you were really going to make an effort, but then that incident during your trip to Greenfields happened and now this..." The headmaster shook his head. "Your doctor's note says that you had a bout of glandular fever and you injured your ankle falling down the stairs."

Alex raised an eyebrow, trying to quell his impatience. "Yes, and?"

Mr Bray frowned. "And quite frankly, you don't look like you just recovered from a fever. As a matter of fact, it looks like you were on the losing end of a fist fight."

Ah, the healing cuts and bruises. He hadn't thought that the few remaining marks visible on his face and neck were that bad or he'd have waited until next Monday to go back to school. "I was still running a fever when I got out of bed, so when I tried to go downstairs I got dizzy and took a pretty bad fall. That's all."

"Mhm," the man nodded, clearly not believing him. "Alex, if you have any problems you know you can talk to us, right? We want to help you."

It was like a bad echo of their conversation two months back. "Thank you, sir, but as I said, I just got a little careless. I'll be more careful in the future."

Mr Bray stared at him for a few seconds before nodding sharply. "Fine. But if you change your mind my door is always open." He leaned back in his chair, his whole demeanor becoming more official; seemed like that part of their talk was over for now. "Meanwhile, several of your teachers have expressed their concerns about your ability to keep up. You've missed a lot of school and the term has barely started. I suggest you get yourself a tutor as soon as possible."

Alex nodded, trying to look at least a little contrite. "Yeah, Jack's already looking into that. I'll do my best to make up the work I've missed."

Between the schedule MI6 set up for him, his daily burn scar therapy appointments at St Dominic's and catching up to the rest of his class it'd be a wonder if he found the time to breathe over the next couple of weeks.


	34. Stars

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Summary: Time keeps passing, training picks up, wounds are healing, and a certain assassin keeps haunting his thoughts.

**Warnings: **The third part of this has some explicit smut stuff in it. Well, it's not really all that explicit for my standards, but, you know. Just warning you guys of the boy-smut ahead, for those who may not be so comfortable with this pairing. (Though then I wonder, why are you reading this?)

**Edited: 23.12.10**

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34. _Stars_

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Date: Feb. 9th (Sunday) - 10.34 am (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

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"Oof!"

He hit the ground with a dull thud, stars exploding behind his eyes, and rolled once before coming to a stop on his stomach, his cheek pressed against the hard floor. His right knee and upper back were throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

Fucking. Hell. _Ouch._

There were several seconds of silence before slow, heavy steps started to creep closer and he could feel the vibrations against his cheekbone, warning him of his opponent's proximity. He kept his eyes closed and forced his breathing to start slowing down.

The other stopped directly behind him and there was a rustle of clothes as the person crouched down. "Alex?"

He didn't react. Any second now...

"Hey, you with me?"

A questioning hand slipped onto his shoulder and he threw himself back and around, landing his elbow smack dab in the other's midriff. There was an aborted gasp and Alex finished twisting around and into a crouch, using his momentum to pounce on the larger man and bring him to the ground. Another split-second and he had slipped one hand around his opponets throat, the other over his nose, knees pinning the other's arms to his side. If he wanted to, he could strangle him.

Ben blinked up at him, wide-eyed and wheezing. "You... cheated."

The teen grinned and leaned back, balancing his weight on his heels instead of his training partner's chest. "You never called an out."

The soldier stared up at him in disbelief. "I thought... I'd knocked you out."

"Better luck next time," Alex chuckled and rolled off the other, getting to his feet and stretching his arms above his head. He might have won, but he was going to be sore all over tomorrow. When he turned around Ben was slowly getting to his feet, rubbing at his chest. The blond frowned. "You okay?"

"Yeah." The man pushed himself upright and took a few deep breaths. "Just a bit winded. That was a pretty good hit."

"Hmm. Thanks." The teen leaned against one of the empty bookcases standing against the walls, absently running his fingertips over the smooth wood. These had once housed countless books and files, not a single one of which he had ever been allowed to read. He wondered what they had done with all of Ian's stuff, if there had been something personal in his office as well or if it had been all work-related.

Ben shook out his shoulders, then took a ready stance. "Come on, we have time for one more round."

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Date: Feb. 5th (Wednesday) - 13.10 pm (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

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"Hey."

Alex looked up as Tom fell into the chair across from him, lunch tray clattering onto the table. He stopped picking at his own meal and tried to smile, but the effort was half-hearted at best. "Hey."

Tom stared at him for a moment before obviously deciding that discretion was the better part of valour. "So did you choose your electives for next term yet?"

"Uh, no," the blond frowned. Electives? When had that list been handed out? Well, maybe it was in that giant stack of papers he had received this morning after his delightful little chat with the headmaster.

"I'm gonna keep up soccer, of course, but I was thinking about maybe taking astronomy, too," the other teen went on. "Miller's teaching that, and from what I've heard she's pretty cool."

"It also doesn't hurt that she's hot, of course," Alex remarked with a slight grin.

"Yeah, it also doesn't hurt that she's hot," Tom snickered, waggling his eyebrows.

The blond chuckled. "Sorry to break it to you, but I thinks she's married and has a kid."

"Pfff, who cares? Doesn't mean I can't look, now does it?"

The spy leaned forward and put his chin in his hand, picking up his fork to absentmindedly poke at his food. "Isn't that a little weird? She's got to be thirty at least..."

Tom rolled his eyes. "Oh, whatever. I mean, it'd be weird if anything ever happened, but she's a _teacher_. There's no chance in hell, therefore I can enjoy the view however much I want."

Alex speared a single noodle, held it up consideringly, then put the fork down and pushed the plate away. He hadn't been very hungry lately. "Hmm."

The other teen glanced up from where he had started in on his own lunch, frowing slightly. "Is this about your French life-saver?"

The blond blinked uncomprehendingly, for a few seconds having no idea what his friend was talking about, but then he got it and groaned, tempted to bury his face in his arms. "I told you, she's not French."

"So where's she from then?"

The spy bit his lip, hesitating for a second. This conversation was going in a direction he really wasn't all that keen on. "Russia."

"Ohh, a hot Russian lady!" Tom grinned. "What does she look like?"

"Not important," Alex said firmly, shaking his head. "So you're gonna take astronomy?"

"Oh no, you're not getting away this time," the other teen chuckled. "She must have made quite the impression if you're still thinking about her."

"You're the one who brought her up," the blond pointed out.

"Psh, whatever," Tom waved him off. "So how old is she? Twenty? Twenty-five?"

Alex groaned again. "Can't you just drop it?"

"Twenty-eight? Thirty?" The other teen grinned brightly.

The blond answered with a dirty look.

"Come on, Alex," Tom chuckled. "Just tell me how old she is and I'll leave you alone for a while."

The spy considered the offer for a few moments, then sighed resignedly. "I don't know exactly, okay? H-she... must be in her mid-thirties or so. She knew my father."

The other's eyebrows went up at this. "She knew your dad? Wow. How come?"

"I told you her age," the blond reminded his friend.

Tom rolled his eyes. "You _guessed_ her age. Which is pretty woah by the way, 'cause mid-thirties means she's like twenty years older than you. But fine, I'll leave it for now. But don't think I'll forget about this!"

To be honest, Alex hoped that his friend would do exactly that.

"So. Electives...?"

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Date: Feb. 7th (Friday) - 19.16 pm (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

Rating: M

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The water beat down on his head and he closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall. The cool tiles felt good on his shoulders, soothing the stinging the warm water caused on his burn scars. The doctors had told him the area was likely to become almost completely numb and if he didn't exercise carefully he could lose some of his flexibility, and while he knew the latter was true and he could feel almost nothing when he touched the bullet scar on his chest, his shoulders seemed determined to make themselves the exception.

Maybe it was because the skin was still healing, but right now even the slightest touch tingled, a shirt brushing over his back was a constant distraction, and someone placing a hand on his shoulder too firmly downright hurt. He hoped this effect would wear off soon because living with part of his body in a perpetual state of hypersensitivity was definitely not his idea of fun; not to mention that it placed him in some awkard situations. He didn't even want to imagine how this could be used against him if anyone found out. If it stayed as bad as it was now...

He raised his right hand and carefully trailed his fingertips over the edge of the mostly healed burn to test it, biting his lip against the sparks tingling down his back, causing heat to pool in his stomach. He shivered, his arms erupting into goosebumps, and slowly smoothed his palm over his shoulder, moaning at the heady rush of sensation.

Damnit. He sighed and looked down, noting with resignation that he was already half-hard. This was getting ridiculous.

He'd noticed that the scar was very sensitive while he was still in hospital, but he hadn't thought much of it at the time. Only when he came home on the day before his birthday and used that scar treatment lotion stuff the doctor prescribed had he become aware that the hypersensitivity wasn't necessarily a _bad_ thing... only he wasn't sure that it was all that good either. Needless to say, he'd declined Jack's offers to help him with the lotion.

Now here he was, debating whether to indulge or not, and he wasn't all that sorry to admit that his hormones were winning the argument. Jack had said that dinner would be ready in half an hour, but that was still plenty of time, right?

He grinned a little, amused at himself. Teenagers really were as bad as everyone said, weren't they? Just look at Tom, drooling after a teacher even though she was so much older. And he himself, always thinking about...

Suddenly angry, he dug his fingers into his shoulder, gritting his teeth against the pain as white dots appeared in his vision. He held his grip for a few seconds, then had to let go, sagging against the wall. Why couldn't he go even a single day without his thoughts straying to that man? The constant dreams every other night were bad enough, so why couldn't he get his mind on other things during the day at least?

Weren't crushes supposed to fade with time instead of getting stronger?

He lightly stroked over his stinging scar, over the already fading grooves left by his nails. Over a month since they had parted ways and still the Russian's voice, his touches, the way there was a spark of _something_ in his stoic gaze kept ghosting through Alex's mind and dreams. He let his head fall back against the tiles, closing his eyes against the water, and smoothed his hand over his shoulder blade like before. He wondered what it'd feel like if Yassen did this, the large hands covering more space than he could himself with only his right, the man's callouses scratching just a little on his sensitive skin...

He shuddered and bit down on his lip, letting his free hand trail down his chest. If Yassen were here in the shower with him...

The larger man would push him up against the wall just like he was now, slipping his knee in between the teen's, pressing close. Alex spread his legs as if the assassin was there, moaning as he fisted his own arousal, wishing someone else was doing it for him. Yassen would place his hand on his shoulder, on the juncture of his neck, like that one time... the thumb stroking up, making the blond tip his head to the side, the long fingers splayed out over his nape, teasing along the edge of the scar.

"Oh god..." the spy murmured thickly, his own hand trailing over his shoulder, sending almost painful sparks of pleasure down his spine. Fuck, he wanted Yassen here; he wanted to know what the man felt like, sounded like. Did he taste the way he smelled? How would he touch him?

His breathing sped up even as he was forcing himself to stroke himself slowly, be patient. Maybe that was the way the assassin would do it, slow and firm, always in control... He gasped and sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, worried it between his teeth. Would Yassen be rough or careful? He thought of the marks on his neck, the assassin's fingerprints overlaying Frank's hickey for days after that night he accidentally startled the Russian. It wouldn't be so bad to wear those marks again, only this time caused by the man's mouth instead of his hand, sucking at his neck, biting, stinging just enough to send a jolt straight down to the teen's groin.

He lightly scratched his nails over the side of his throat and groaned at the sensation, the knot of tension in his stomach growing tighter and tighter. So close...

What would it feel like to get down on his knees and suck the assassin's cock, let it fill his mouth? He only had a vague idea about how exactly that worked and what one had to do, getting all his information from a couple of pictures he'd seen online and the jokes in the locker room. But the thought of getting to do that to the Russian, taste him and breathe in his scent...

He sucked in a sharp breath before letting out a strangled moan as his orgasm uncoiled with sudden force, sending waves of pleasure racing along his nerves. His fingers dug into his skin and he trembled, his knees buckling under him as for a few seconds he felt absolutely perfect.

Then the light spots in his vision started to clear up and he found himself sitting in the pooling water on the floor of the shower, having slid down the wall. He sighed shakily and rubbed at his flushed face, the world feeling just a little bit unsteady around him.

God, this had to stop.


	35. Hold My Hand

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Warnings: I got a bit trigger-happy with the italics.

Summary: It's amazing what you can make yourself forget if only you want it badly enough.

Author's Note: Surprise! Life has thrown me a curve ball or two, or three, or maybe just hit me with the bat, so it took me a while to get back to this. But back I am, and I bring you a new chapter and a completely revised story to boot. Some chapters only have miniscule changes, some chapters had more than half their content rewritten. It might be worth a re-read. Anyway, I'm glad I'm back and I'm even gladder that a lot of you people want to see this continued. :) Thanks, guys.

Oh, and **Happy New Year!** :D

Date: Jan. 3rd, 9.30 am, between _Night _and _Trouble Lurking_ (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

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35. _Hold My Hand_

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He woke up because someone was jostling him, the source of warmth he was pressed up against pulling away from him. He made a small noise of protest and burrowed deeper under his blanket, sleep cloying his thoughts. According to his heavy limbs it was way too early to get up and he was inclined to agree. A tentative glimpse showed that there wasn't even any sun yet, the room was completely dark, and without thinking about it much more he curled up on the warm side of the bed and went back to sleep.

The next time he woke up the room was still dark, but this time he was coherent enough to recognize that this was due to the heavy curtains keeping out the sunlight. Moving slowly because of his stiff limbs, he rolled out of bed, blearily looking around the room once he stood on his feet. Obviously Yassen had already gotten up – Alex wouldn't be surprised to find out that the man hadn't gone back to sleep at all after the… incident last night.

He carefully rotated his right wrist, noting the residual twinges of pain. Still mostly useless.

Noticing the cough medicine on the cupboard next to the bed he took a couple of the pills, then gingerly made his way to the empty kitchen. It was strange to be moving around in someone else's home. Where was Yassen? The flat was completely silent and Alex was half-tempted to go looking for him, but instead he just ended up slumping down at the kitchen table and contemplating the potential awesomeness of breakfast versus the awkwardness of being caught rifling through the cupboards. He didn't want to get on the assassin's bad side after everything that had happened, but for once he was actually kind of hungry after several days of barely eating anything.

He grumbled in annoyance and rested his forehead on the cool wood, feeling a headache coming on. Man, this was so stupid. Why was he even still here? Shouldn't he be trying to get to the airport and the first flight home instead of wallowing in self-pity here? But he'd need money for that. And his own clothes. But they were in the bathroom, which meant that he'd have to get up again. He moaned quietly and folded his arms over his head, pressing his cheek against the smooth surface. This all sucked.

Suddenly there was a muffled thump from the adjacent room and Alex perked up. Was Yassen home after all? Pushing himself up, he wandered back into the hallway and to the closed door on the left from where the sound had come. Pushing it open a bit, he peered through the gap.

The Russian was on the far side of the room, in the middle of doing crunches, his sleeveless white shirt damp with sweat and sticking to him. The teen stared, wondering how many of those the man had already done and just how strong he really was. The assassin wasn't overly bulky, but he was extremely toned, his whole body built for flexibility and speed. Alex's eyes trailed along the muscled upper arms, the defined chest, the shirt clinging to tight abs…

"Yes?"

He startled and his gaze snapped up, freezing like a deer in the headlights as he met the other's ice blue stare.

"I, uh…" What did he want again?

The Russian raised an eyebrow, an amused light entering his eyes, and rolled to his feet in one fluid motion. "I organized your papers. There's a flight you can take tomorrow."

"That… that's great. Thank you." The other's sweatpants had ridden down and revealed a sliver of pale skin. It was alarmingly distracting. "I…" He swallowed and finally managed to look off to the side. "I wanted to ask about breakfast. Is it alright if I just take something?"

The man nodded, a small smile playing around his lips. Alex had the uncomfortable feeling that he was being laughed at. "Just don't make a mess."

The teen nodded and beat a hasty retreat, confused and irritated at himself. Why had that been so awkward? Yassen had been downright _nice_, so there was no reason for him to be such a stuttering mess. Geez, he didn't want to know what the Russian was thinking of him by now. Probably marveling at the fact that Alex hadn't managed to get himself killed yet.

Back in the kitchen he found himself a bowl of oatmeal with milk, not in the mood to go to the effort of a warm breakfast. The fridge only had the bare necessities and yet things like the milk were fresh, which meant that the Russian had already gone out this morning. Aimlessly stirring his spoon around in his bowl, he smiled. The mental image of Yassen standing in an aisle in a grocery store, trying to decide which brand of milk to buy, was still incredibly amusing to him. The very thought was just so _weird_, the world of spies and assassin's suddenly clashing with domestic chores.

After finishing his meal and washing the bowl he slumped back down at the table, at a loss as to what to do now. He was too awake to go back to sleep, he didn't want to bother Yassen again, his headache kept him from reading anything and he hadn't seen a TV anywhere so far…

He stretched his arms out before him and started fiddling with the bandage on his right wrist, his chin on the table. It felt a lot better than yesterday, though the accident last night certainly hadn't helped. Had the Russian's fingers left any marks? Morbidly curious, he started peeling the bandage off in earnest, slowly revealing skin in all the colours of the rainbow beneath it.

The cuts and abrasions caused by the handcuffs were healing, only a few of them looking like they had been torn open again recently, but they were framed by a set of dark blue bruises, their edges green and yellow. All in all it was quite an ugly sight and Alex grimaced, poking one of the dark splotches with his finger. If the assassin had wanted to he could probably have broken his wrists – hell, he could have broken his _neck_ without any trouble.

The thought was scary and the teen started bending his wrist this way and that to test his range of movement once more, the accompanying sharp stinging a welcome distraction.

"You shouldn't move it so much."

His heart leapt into his throat and he whipped around, almost falling off his chair in the process.

Yassen was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed and still in his workout clothes, the picture of relaxed contentment. The corner of his mouth quirked up just a fraction and a bead of sweat trickled down his temple.

Alex stared, his mouth open with half-formed words and his pulse racing. What the - what… _what_? The Russian's expression didn't really change, only a strange light creeping into his eyes [_laughing at him?_] and the teen blinked, a wave of embarrassment and annoyance flooding him. Without thinking, he snapped, "Someone should put a bell on you."

"And I suppose you'll be the one to do that?" The other asked, one eyebrow rising up in question, and now Alex was definitely being mocked.

Knowing full well that it was childish and not caring in the slightest he let his bottom lip jut out. "If you don't stop sneaking up on me, yeah."

Yassen huffed under his breath, almost a chuckle, and slid into the chair on the other side of the table. "You won't have to put up with it for much longer," the Russian reminded him and held out his hand. "Let me see your wrist."

The younger blond smiled to himself, amused at how the man kept trying to pass off his demands as requests. Maybe it was simply impossible for Yassen to _not_ sound commanding for once? He held out his arm obligingly, expecting the other to just take a quick look. Accordingly surprised was he when Yassen actually took his hand and tugged it closer to inspect the scrapes and bruises, his thumb lightly rubbing at the edge of the dark blotches.

Alex blinked, feeling himself freeze up in stunned silence. After several seconds he stuttered, "It- it's fine. Really."

The assassin kept hold of him for another couple of seconds - it was hard to miss the way the other's fingers covered the fresh bruises on Alex's skin perfectly - then he let go and leaned back, folding his arms over his chest.

The teen quickly drew his arm back, unable to meet the Russian's eyes and his face feeling hot. Why was everything with Yassen always so awkward?

"It's not healing cleanly. There will be scars."

Alex glanced up, catching sight of the assassin's pensive frown. He shrugged, unable to make himself care about yet another couple of white lines on his skin. They wouldn't be the first and they would hardly be the last. "So?"

Yassen's frown deepened. "You are remarkably unconcerned about your own health."

The teen pursed his lips. "Well, it's not like I got shot. And if anyone at school sees this-" He briefly waved his hand around, "then they'll just make up some new rumour about me being a cutter or something."

The Russian didn't look convinced. "Your friends won't be curious?"

Alex shook his head. "Hardly." Then, noticing the man's raised eyebrow, he hastily tacked on, "Well, Tom and Sabina know about all this stuff. They're the only ones I really talk to, so..." He trailed off, not sure how much more he should say. Yassen probably wasn't very interested in hearing about his friends.

"You should quit working for MI6."

Alex couldn't help but snort. "Yeah, because it's that easy. I'll just walk up to Blunt and say 'Hey, turns out getting shot at isn't as much fun as it sounds. How about you find someone else for the job?' " He shook his head, his lips pressed together into a thin line. "As long as they have anything on me they'll never let me go."

The Russian's gave a thoughtful hum. "Is there anyone else who could take over your guardianship? Some relative or godparent?"

Alex's brain stuttered to a halt and he blinked slowly, feeling the blood drain from his face. Some... relative? Didn't Yassen- no, _of course_ he had to know. And still... he could ask this just like that? Without the slightest hint of - of _anything? _

There was a bitter taste in his mouth and he couldn't swallow, his throat feeling too tight. Yassen didn't care, had probably _already forgotten_, and to Alex the memory was still so very-

[_A burst window, the seat riddled with holes, a dark stain soaked into the fabric and they really told him the truth, it's over, he'll never be late for dinner again, never say 'see you later' again, never come __**home **__again_]

There was a small, vindictive voice whispering just beneath his thoughts, a quiet litany filled with all the uncertainty and anger he had never quite managed to get rid off; taunting him, mocking him, reminding him of how helpless he really was in this whole mess. Wasn't it amazing what humans were capable of? Wasn't it incredible how he had managed to make himself forget?

"Alex?"

His gaze snapped back into focus and he stared at Yassen. "No." He almost didn't recognize the voice as his own. "There's no one."

Because of MI6. Because of Sayle. Because of _Yassen_.

Alex shoved himself to his feet, almost tripping in his hurry to get away from the table and - and _that man_. His stomach was churning, a bitter, vicious tangle of emotions twisting themselves up more and more. Oh god, what was he doing here? What was he _doing here_?

"Alex-" Yassen had half-risen and suddenly all the teen wanted to do was run away.

"I'm- I'm tired." He backed away, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. "I'm gonna lie down."

He stumbled from the room, the assassin's [_shit, __**assassin**__, how could he __**forget?**_] gaze burning into his back. Oh god. What the _hell_ was he doing here? Had he completely lost his mind?

For a second his eyes fixed on the door and he thought that he could just run away, put on his shoes and leave. Yassen wouldn't follow him. They'd never meet again. It would all be over, as easy as that.

Swallowing thickly, he turned to walk towards the bedroom.


	36. Precious Treasure

Summary: Laundry Day.

Date: Jan. 6th - evening, between _Foreign_ and _Dreams _(Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

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36. _Precious Treasure_

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"Alex? I'm doing the laundry. Can I throw the stuff you brought home in with the load?"

He looked away from the book he was reading to see Jack leaning in the doorway, linen basket braced against her hip.

"Uh, sure," he answered distractedly. He needed to get back to his book - he had to finish it until tomorrow or his teacher was going to kill him.

Reading the lines, he was vaguely aware of Jack picking up the shirts and pants Yassen had stolen for him, some socks and - gah, embarrassing - dirty underwear. When she picked up a big, dark blue shirt she made a face and held it away from her. "Geez, this stuff is all filthy. And what's this-" She rubbed at a large dark spot on a sleeve. "Did you _bleed_ on this?"

Alex gaze snapped up, eyes fixing on the shirt and instantly recognizing it. It was Yassen's. The one the man had given him that first night at his apartment.

"Uhm, hey Jack?" he started, pushing himself up and getting off the bed. "Why don't I do the laundry today? It's all my stuff anyway, right?" He took a step closer and tried to tug the shirt out of her hand, but she didn't let go.

The redhead stared at him, half smiling, half just plain confused. "You wanna do the laundry? Alex, you have no idea how to operate the washing machine. Also, don't dodge my question."

"Well, I'm almost fifteen, it's about time I learned, right?" He laughed awkwardly and gave the shirt another useless tug, then cringed. If he wanted to be any more obvious about the fact that something was up he could try the _'Isn't the weather just wonderful today? Why don't you go for a walk?' _routine.

Her eyebrows drew together into a worried frown. "Alex, seriously, is this blood again? And what's about this shirt that you don't want me to wash it?"

He fidgeted, loath to admit the truth but unable to come up with a believable lie. "I just... don't want you to?" he hedged, silently pleading with her to let it slide. "And, uh, yeah, it's blood. Just from the scabs on my wrist, they tore open a bit at one point, no big deal." Though he certainly could have lived without the experience.

Her eyes flickered to the white bandage encircling his wrist but then focused back on him expectantly, still demanding an explanation. "Alex?"

He squirmed in place, torn between telling her the truth or blurting out some half-assed reason. "It just doesn't need to be washed, okay? It's fine the way it is," he tried to explain.

Jack frowned at him, remaining entirely unconvinced. "Give me one good reason why you want to keep a dirty, smelly shirt. It doesn't even fit you, it's too big!"

"I know, alright?" he snapped back, getting the shirt from her with a sudden sharp yank and retreating a step once it was safe in his possession. "I know and I don't care, I like it like this and I want to keep it that way! That's all the reason I need!"

She stared at him with big eyes, her mouth opening and closing without making a sound before she heaved a sigh and ran a hand through her hair. "Okay. I'm sorry. Keep the shirt. I didn't mean to fight, for some reason this is obviously important to you and I'll leave it be now." Her lips curved into a tentative smile. "We good?"

Great, now he felt like an ass. He dropped his gaze, shuffling on the spot in embarrassment. "Yeah, we're good. I didn't mean to shout."

"Good." Her smile strengthened and she picked up the linen basket again. "Then I'll just get this done. Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes."

"Okay," he nodded at her, still abashed at getting so worked up over a stupid shirt. Only that it wasn't really stupid, was it?

She left the room, the sound of her steps fading as she went down the stairs. The teen's shoulders slumped and he gave a deep sigh, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He shouldn't have shouted. He was still so tense all the time, not used to being back home yet. Sleeping the whole night through without anything happening surprised him more than some guys kicking down the door to his room would have.

Bracing his elbows on his knees, he started playing around with the shirt in his hands, letting it glide through his fingers. You could feel that it had been worn a lot, the material incredibly soft, the colour faded a shade or two.

Had Yassen noticed it missing? Was he angry, or did he not care at all? Did he maybe have some idea why Alex had impulsively decided to throw it in his bag? If so, the Russian was miles ahead of the teen, because the blond still wasn't entirely sure why he had done it.

[_And he would keep telling himself that until he believed it._]

He raised the shirt to his face, rubbed it against his cheek and inhaled the lingering scent. Jack was right, by all rights it was more than overdue for a wash.

It smelled like sweat and sickness and exhaustion.

[_A__ deep voice murmuring his name._]

It smelled like pain and fear and blood.

[_Warm fingers carding through his hair, gentle, so very gentle._]

It smelled like being lost and hunted and alone.

[_And underneath it all a musky hint of spice and olive, weak enough that he can't tell if it's really there or if he merely wants it to be._]

The corners of his lips curved upwards, a slow, fluttery warmth rising up through him. He stood up, emptied a drawer in his bedside cabinet, carefully folded the shirt and put it in there.

He wasn't ready to give up that feeling just yet.


	37. Eyes

Summary: He needed to get away from all these people staring at him, judging him, starting to whisper and gossip about him even now. All this attention focused solely on him was making him sick.

Date: Feb. 12th, between _Stars _and _Teamwork_ (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

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37. _Eyes_

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Considering how much he wanted to be normal it was almost funny how being back in school could make him both so glad and yet so uncomfortable at the same time. Sitting in his classrooms, listening to the teachers drone on, taking notes - there were no words for how wonderfully normal and boring it all was. But somewhere between people shooting at him, explosions, completely mad egomaniacs and running for his life he had forgotten one very important fact.

"Hey Alex!"

A hand came down on his shoulder and Alex flinched away, only just restrained himself from bringing his fists up. His scar was stinging something fierce.

In school, he was surrounded by kids his age. And lashing out because he was startled was not the approved standard response.

"Hey Tom."

The dark-haired boy grinned at him and fell into the seat across from him. "Man, did you hear the rumours going 'round about you? It's crazy!"

Crazy. That's what he'd become if everyone didn't stop watching him like they expected him to do something weird any second every minute of the day. He'd regretted coming here the minute he'd stepped through the door.

"I haven't really been paying attention," he grumbled and stabbed at his clumpy mashed potatoes. He kinda missed the food he'd gotten in St. Dominic's.

Tom was still grinning - and no wonder, he'd made the smart choice and selected the chips from the menu. "Aww, are you mad? Come on, I heard Leila Stevens telling her friends how _handsome_ and _mysterious_ you are! I bet right now they're fighting over who gets to ask you out first."

Leila already had. He shrugged. "You know I don't have time for that stuff right now. I have to make up so much work it's not even funny anymore."

The other teen groaned. "But Alex, _Leila Stevens_! Do you have _any_ idea - no, of course you don't." The boy huffed in exasperation.

Alex chuckled, then bit back another flinch as he felt several pairs of eyes boring into his back at the sound. "Sorry."

Tom shook his head. "Nah, it's okay. It's even kind of funny how they're all clamouring to find out what's going on with you. It's like you're a new student every time you come back."

"Yeah," he muttered sourly. "It's _fantastic_."

The other teen frowned lightly. "Come on, it can't be that bad."

He sighed and rested his chin on his fist. "It's just kinda annoying. I feel like I'm the star attraction in a zoo or someth-"

"Hey, Rider!" a mocking voice called from behind him, accompanied by a few snickers. "Heard you were in hospital again. What happened, did you break a nail?"

Surprisingly, it was Tom who seemed the most pissed off by the comment. Alex just rolled his eyes, way too used to these remarks. There were a couple of kids from the grade above theirs that had been trying to get a rise out of him all week. Waving at his friend to stay seated, he answered loudly, "Nah, it was my ankle this time. Twisted it when I tried out my new heels."

There was some laughter from around and behind him. Nice to know just how many people were listening in on them. Tom still had a frown lingering on his face, but at least he didn't look like he was about to go over there and start a fight anymore. Instead he chose to take his ire out on his chips.

"Carter's such a bloody pillock. Since the summer vacation he's started bullying the younger kids and 'cause he's got his gang," Tom gestured, but Alex didn't turn around to look at the four or five boys surrounding Carter, "nobody dares to stand up to him on their own. I bet he's pissed you're back, he knows you used to kick any bully's arse," the dark-haired boy finished with a grin.

Alex smiled too, remembering that their own friendship had started when he'd gotten rid of a couple older kids who'd been bullying Tom. "Well, right now he's just annoying. I'd rather not get in a fight."

His friend looked quite disappointed at that. "Damn, I'd hoped you could take him down a peg or three."

The blond shrugged and concentrated on his food, effectively ending the topic. It wasn't that he thought he'd lose against four or even five kids his age, the problem was that he wasn't sure that he wouldn't hurt them quite badly without even meaning to.

"Sooo... d'you think you'll rejoin the football team now that you're back?" Tom asked, talking around a mouth full of chips. "There's a game in a couple o' weeks and we could really use some help."

"Don't think I'll be allowed," the blond admitted with a grimace. "I've got too much work to make up."

His friend swallowed and blew out a disappointed sigh. "That blows. Well, then you'll have to join up next term again. I bet I can convince the coach to let you back in."

Tom was the captain of the football team and quite well-liked by pretty much everyone, so that was probably even true. Still, Alex couldn't even say for sure if he would still be alive come next term and he didn't want to make promises he couldn't keep. He half nodded, half shrugged. "That'd be cool."

"Hey, Rider!"

The exact same voice as before, even the exact same tone. Exasperated, Alex turned around this time. "Look, don't you have anything else to do besides bother me with your lame pick-up lines?"

Behind him, Tom gave a loud snort of laughter, quickly joined by snickers from the other tables. Alex smiled, small and tight, unfazed by the scowls at the table he was now facing but not very amused either. He just wanted to be left alone, was that so hard to understand?

"You think you're so smart, don't you, Rider?" snarled a tall boy sitting right in the middle of his four friends - Carter.

Once again, the blond shrugged. "Not particularly, no. You just make it real easy for me."

Now they were muttering among themselves and another boy with a round face and his sideways combed dark hair almost hiding his eyes called, "Oi, didn't your family ever teach you to be polite to your betters? Oops, I forgot - they're all dead, aren't they?"

Admittedly, that wiped the grin off Alex's face but to be fair he totally hadn't expected them to go there. That was _way_ below the belt.

"Hey, what the hell do you think you're-" Tom started in on them but Alex interrupted, his eyes narrowed, voice sharp. "Is that really the best you can do? Hitting the one obvious sore spot you know for sure will hurt me? Pretty pathetic, don't you think?"

He wasn't sure what the other teen had expected, but Alex's response sent him floundering, shaking his head and sputtering, "That's not-" but Alex talked right over him.

"Yeah, my whole family is dead and it fucking blows. But you know what? At least I didn't turn out to be some sad little bastard like you. So why don't you stop wasting my time and leave me the hell alone?" He swept his gaze over all five boys, noted their expressions ranging from plain pissed off to taken aback to insulted.

Useless. It didn't matter what he said. They wouldn't get it and they wouldn't leave him alone. Shaking his head, he pushed his tray away and got up, throwing a quick, "I'll be outside," in Tom's direction. He needed to get away from all these people staring at him, judging him, starting to whisper and gossip about him even now. All this attention focused solely on him was making him sick.

"Alex, wait!" There was some clattering behind him and then Tom jogged up next to him. A wave of gratitude hit the blond and he smiled at his friend, unspeakably relieved to not be alone in this. To not be the only one storming out of the canteen after one stupid little fight.

The second the swinging doors closed behind them Tom exploded. "What a bunch of assholes! I can't believe they'd bring up your family, that's so low it's disgusting! And nobody even thought of helping, they all just sat there and watched like you were putting on a show or something!"

Alex bit his lip and shrugged, although he was just as frustrated. He knew he shouldn't let these kids get to him, knew that he had much bigger things to worry about. It was stupid to get worked up about something so meaningless.

Tom put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly. "Good job calling them out on their shit, though. Still kinda wish we could beat them up."

The blond snorted, feeling himself smile in answer to his friend's grin. "I get into enough trouble as it is. I don't need to add 'starts fights at school' to the list."

Of course, just then they heard the doors behind them bang open and both boys turned around, startled at the noise. Alex wished he could at least pretend to be surprised when it turned out to be Carter and his friends following them, but all he really felt was a sense of exhaustion. Next to him, Tom shifted so that he was standing legs slightly apart and tense, obviously getting ready for a fight. Alex grabbed him by the arm and pulled him along at a normal pace, ignoring his friend's startled "Alex!" or the calls from behind them. He'd already left the stupid lunch room, he'd cleared the field, retreated as if there was anything to run away from - and thus he was so not doing this. He refused to do this.

"Oi, Rider, wait up!"

"Come on, we just wanna give you something!"

A punch to the face, probably. He laughed low under his breath, a grim smile twisting his lips. There was a threat at his back, the adrenaline was singing in his veins and he felt better, more like he belonged than he had all day so far. It was messed up.

Beside him, Tom was stumbling along, on the one hand wanting to face the others but on the other hand unwilling to try to make Alex stop by force. He tried it with words. "Alex, come on, they're gonna catch up anyway. And just look at them, they're practically begging for a beating! We should oblige, don't you think?"

Of course they were going to catch up - Alex refused to run like a dog with its tail between its legs - but it was all just so. Argh. Pointless. And _stupid_. Letting loose a frustrated huff of breath he stopped and turned around on the spot, Tom nearly stumbling as he was yanked to a halt.

The other boys, seeing that Alex had stopped, came closer until they were only a few steps away. As expected, Carter was once again the first to speak, a mean grin on his face. "Enough running away, Rider? And here I thought we'd have to chase you all over school."

Unimpressed and letting it come through loud and clear, Alex asked, "What do you want?"

The same boy who'd made that remark about Alex's family spoke up, smirking as well. "We told you, didn't we? We just want to give you a little welcome-back present."

To try to stop the fight or to make them really angry? Ah, to hell with it. Alex grinned right back at them, the expression every bit as friendly as a shark's. "Look, I know I'm irresistible but I just don't swing that way. You'll have to keep your flowers and chocolates, maybe find a pretty girl to give them to or something."

Tom snickered, but the other boys were less amused. "In case you were wondering," Carter snapped, "that's exactly why nobody likes you. You come back here and behave like you own the place, but you know what? You're not all that great, everybody knows that you're in therapy and doing drugs! Hell, I bet you were in hospital 'cause you tried to off yourself or something and now you're back here pretending to be the Amazing Alex Rider again. It pisses me off!"

Alex couldn't help it, he laughed. "That - that's your reason for disliking me?" He laughed again, louder, sharper. "Because I'm _stealing your show_? Oh bloody hell, how old are you?" He chuckled, shook his head. "I wasn't aware that I'd been put back into kindergarten while I was away."

"Shut up!" one of Carter's friends barked.

Alex did, but he just couldn't get rid of the mad grin on his face. This was just too absurd. At least it seemed they were finally done talking because all of a sudden Carter took a big step forward, fist cocked back.

Tom called something, maybe a warning, maybe an encouragement, but Alex didn't register it either way. With barely a thought, he ducked Carter's punch and stepped forward, marvelling in the back of his mind that it was all happening so slowly. Carter moved nothing like Nile, like Conrad, like Yassen; it was all slow clumsy steps and telegraphed intentions. But even that didn't matter as he hooked his foot behind Carter's ankle and shoved his palm hard into the older boy's sternum. The move stole the other's breath and sent him tumbling to the floor in a helpless sprawl.

Alex stepped back, getting a bit of space to work with, and not a second to soon. While one of the boys helped Carter to his feet the other three came at Alex, trying to box him in. Tom intercepted the one on Alex's right and the blond felt another surge of gratitude before it drowned in a fresh wave of adrenaline. From one moment to the next he was busy ducking, weaving, shoving, and he had to be careful, couldn't aim for the places his body wanted him to, couldn't kick them to make sure they stayed down.

He stumbled when one of them clipped his shoulder, more distracted with the flash of pain in his back jerking back brought him than the actual hit. He allowed himself to be pushed back another two, three steps, let the other two believe they had the upper hand, always watching, waiting, waiting, _there_-

His hand flashed out to intercept the taller one's fist and as soon as he had his fingers around the boy's wrist he twisted, jerking the other's whole body around and to his knees as the boy howled in surprise and pain. Alex didn't much care, just forced the arm up the other's back, making him bend over into an awkward position.

The second boy had frozen for a few seconds but soon he was moving, coming at Alex from the left to help his friend. The blond waited, watched and just when it was clear the boy was fully committed to his attack he _twisted_ the arm in his grasp. There was a sickening 'pop' and the boy screamed, the second one attacking jerked back in shock and stumbled and Alex swept out his leg.

He'd timed it perfectly; the second boy went down quick and hard, sprawling in an uncoordinated heap. Before he quite knew what had happened Alex had shoved him onto his stomach and gotten a good grip on his wrist as well. From there, all he needed to do was give a warning little twist and the teen froze, terrified of having his arm broken as well. He couldn't know that Alex had been careful to only dislocate the first boy's shoulder.

When he had the two of them completely immobilized Alex looked up for the first time, unsurprised to see the dozens of kids watching from several metres away. A lot of them had seen Carter and his gang follow Tom and him, so of course they'd come and watched instead of doing the smart thing and getting help.

Tom had finished his own fight, the boy who'd come at him leaning with a bloody nose against the wall and obviously not about to try another attack. Alex noticed the split lip his friend had, but it didn't look too bad. Only Carter and the fifth boy were left standing, but considering Carter was still mostly busy gasping for breath and the last boy looked completely terrified, it seemed like the fight was pretty much over.

[_Too soon._]

Letting go of the two boys on the floor Alex stood up and stepped away, over to Tom. His hands were shaking with adrenaline and he was itching to run, fight, _do_ something. He forced himself to stand perfectly still.

"Hey," Tom smiled at him. "You alright?"

Alex nodded, made his mouth return the smile. "Yeah. You?"

"Mostly," the other teen grinned, displaying his split lip. "How much trouble you reckon we're gonna be in?"

"What's this I hear abou- Oh my goodness! Carter, Rider, Harris! What in god's name did you-"

He looked over the hallway filled with beat up kids, one- no, wait, now two screaming teachers, the talking and wildly gesticulating students in the background and his smile became more real, if slightly strained. "Lots of it. Lots and lots and lots of it."

Tom laughed.


	38. Abandoned

Summary: Difficult questions and long overdue revelations. There's trouble ahead.

Date: Jan. 3rd - 10 am, between _Hold My Hand Two Roads _(Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

* * *

38. _Abandoned_

* * *

There was no way he would be able to go back to sleep.

At first he had tried to lay down and think about nothing, but his thoughts refused to quiet down or get off the fact that Yassen had killed his uncle. He wasn't sure why remembering came as such a shock - he'd known this all along, hadn't he? It was why he'd told Yassen he'd kill him one day. It was why he got involved with MI6 in the first place.

But there it was, the memory of the car seat riddled with bullet holes hitting him about as gently as a cricket bat to the head.

Somewhere along the line he'd stopped thinking of Yassen as a ruthless assassin, as someone who could turn around and betray him at any second. Which was incredibly stupid, because who knew what the Russian really thought of Alex or why he'd saved him and dragged him along to this place? Maybe he had already called his Scorpia contacts and was just waiting for someone to come and pick Alex up. Maybe the cough medicine the man had given him was some kind of drug to make him drowsy and compliant. Maybe this was all some elaborate scheme to get revenge for getting Yassen shot.

Okay, no, that was ridiculous.

Alex groaned and turned onto his stomach, pulling the blanket over his head. This was all just so... It didn't make any _sense_! Why was Yassen helping him? If it really was because of some kind of imaginary debt to his father, why did that qualify him, Alex, to be worth saving but apparently it was fine to assassinate John's brother? What the hell was that man thinking?

And then the way he was acting! As if it was completely acceptable to screw up a job in order to save some kid! As if it was the most logical thing in the world to take care of a boy who's uncle he had murdered. Why would Yassen _do _? It sure as hell wasn't out of guilt, that much was obvious.

The teen threw the blanket off with a sigh and stared up at the ceiling. Fact was that none of his interactions with Yassen had ever really made any sense. Why had the Russian tried to give him a way out over and over again during that mess with Cray? Why had he agreed to come and get Alex out from under that bridge before he froze to death? Why... did Alex himself often behave as if they were much more familiar with each other than they actually were? There was so much convoluted history and unsaid things between them, it left the teen with no idea of where they really stood. The only thing he _could _say for sure was that they felt much too... _close_, considering all that had happened.

Yassen had killed his uncle. Alex wasn't supposed to feel safe with him.

There was a knock on the door. "Alex?"

Automatically, the teen scrambled to sit upright and scooted to the edge of the bed while the door opened and the Russian he'd been thinking about for the past half hour stepped into the room. "Yes?"

The man looked him over as if weighing him up for a moment, then stated, "I'm going out for a while. Do you need anything?"

That was exactly what Alex had just been thinking about! Without much thought, the spy snapped, "Why are you being so nice to me?"

The Russian seemed faintly surprised for a few seconds before his mouth quirked into a wry smile. "Would you prefer it if I locked you up for a while?"

Making an inarticulate noise, Alex threw up his hands. "There! You are smiling at me! Why are you smiling at me?"

Yassen's face smoothed out into a bland expression, but his eyes _definitely _still looked amused. "I assume this means you don't want anything?"

Giving a frustrated huff, Alex let his shoulders slump down. "I could really use a toothbrush. But I'm serious. Why are you helping me?" He had to force himself to meet Yassen's eyes. "Is it because of my father?"

The Russian gave him another measuring gaze, more wary than before, and inclined his head. "John was a very good friend."

"But that didn't stop you from killing his brother," the teen pointed out bitterly.

The way Yassen hesitated made it obvious that he wasn't exactly prepared for or happy about this line of questioning, but Alex felt like the not-knowing was driving him crazy. He stayed silent and waited for an answer, refusing to let the man off the hook.

Finally, Yassen seemed to settle on something, his face cold and closed-off once more. "Agent Rider was working for the opposition and knew the risks when he accept his assignment. I apologize for your personal loss, but I do not apologize for doing my job."

Which... was more and less than he had expected. There was an apology in there - but on the same breath there was the confirmation that the Russian didn't feel the least bit sorry for what he'd done. And Alex... Alex didn't know what to think. He'd thought hearing any of this would help him clear up some of the tangled mess his feelings were, but it didn't. Not in the slightest.

The beginnings of yet another headache throbbed in the back of his skull and in an effort to stop thinking about everything that confused him he latched onto the only part of the man's statement he could actually react to.

"I'm working for the other side too and maybe I didn't at the start, but I do know the risks by now." His arms slipped over his stomach as if hugging himself, pressing down on the empty feeling low in his belly. He made himself meet Yassen's eyes, needing to see if there was any reaction when he asked his question. "So why aren't you doing your job? How is this any different?"

The Russian shook his head, a tight, pinched look to the corners of his eyes. "You do not know how ugly this business can get."

To that, he teen snorted in derision. "Right, because I haven't been involved with murderers and maniacs for the last nine months. I bet it's completely normal that I can tell apart the sound of bones breaking from branches snapping as easily as I can dismantle and reassemble a gun. I don't know what I was worried about, I fit right in with all the other kids my age, don't I?"

Yassen was tense where he stood in the middle of the room, something dark behind the façade of his mostly blank face. It wasn't difficult to guess that he didn't like what Alex was telling him. Though when the assassin spoke it was slow and measured, as though he had come to a decision; the way he watched the teen had changed. "There are still many things you do not know. For example..."

He started coming closer and all of a sudden something was _different_, violence oozing off his every move. Alex felt his heart skip a beat and instinctively he stood up and stepped to the side so that he didn't have the bed at his back.

Seeing this, Yassen smiled, grim and menacing in a way the teen hadn't even known was possible until then. "You believe you are safe from me simply because I helped you once." He stalked closer, a hunter closing in on his prey, and Alex just kept backing away, caught too off guard to form a single thought beyond blank surprise and intimidation.

"You believe because I say I do not kill children I have never done it before," the Russian continued, suddenly _right there_ and Alex found himself with his back pressed to the wall, his heart beating a mile a minute, eyes wide. "You believe you have seen the worst of what humans are capable of when in truth you have no idea."

Alex couldn't speak, could hardly even breathe past the adrenaline flooding his system in a mad rush. Yassen was practically towering over him, a stark reminder of how much bigger and just plain _stronger _than him the assassin was and there was _no way_ Alex could fight him. Just... no way. He might as well put a gun to his temple and pull the trigger himself, the result would be about the same.

Two fists settled left and right of the teen's head and if possible he pushed himself even harder against the wall. Yassen leaned forward, reducing the space between them to a few inches at most. "Do you think killing or raping you a couple of times is the worst anyone could do to you?"

He _had _thought that, but now he was starting to doubt it.

The Russian's right hand slipped into Alex's hair and the teen flinched away, the motion stopped abruptly when Yassen's grip tightened. His head was yanked up and he was forced to meet the assassin's eyes, the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach growing all the worse as he saw the cold intention in the other's gaze.

"You are pretty enough for a boy," and maybe it sounded like a compliment but it made Alex shiver down to his bones with terror. "It would be ridiculously easy to find some people over in the East, maybe in South America, to sell you to. It would be just as easy for me to break your neck right this second." The hand in his hair gripped even tighter, forcing him to bare his throat. "You wanted me to do my job, didn't you?"

Yes. No. Maybe. He didn't even know what he had wanted, what had made him push for more and more answers. And it didn't matter anymore either because Yassen was going to kill him, was pulling the teen's head just that little bit farther back in preparation, his breathing low and controlled. With the Russian's strength a sharp yank and twist would be enough. One clean snap and that was it. Quick, easy. Alex would be dead before he hit the ground. No more narrow escapes for him, no more hugs from Jack, no more getting in trouble or riding his bike or laughing or breathing.

[_No more fighting. No more pain._]

Exhaling a shuddering breath, he made himself relax into the assassin's grip.

Several seconds passed in tense silence before slowly, carefully, the tight hold on his hair eased. Then the hand fell away completely. "You never react the way I expect you to."

His eyes snapped open - he hadn't realized he'd closed them - to find Yassen looking at him with an odd expression on his face, still very close. Alex blinked slowly, thought that he should feel something, react somehow, but it was like a heavy blanket had settled over all his senses. He couldn't feel anything but the phantom sensation of the hand gripping his hair, about to break his neck. "Sorry."

The Russian shook his head and stepped away, his lips starting to form words he never spoke out loud. Alex didn't much care. He suddenly became aware that his legs felt like overcooked spaghetti and he let himself slide down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, legs tucked up to his chest and arms crossed on his knees. Adrenaline was still pounding through his veins, his heart beating so hard and fast he could feel it with his whole body. He couldn't quite believe he was alive.

"Alex." Yassen had crouched down a good three steps away and was watching the teen carefully.

Alex watched right back, tried to force his breathing to even out a little. He'd almost died just now. Maybe if he had reacted a little differently he'd have... And just to prove a point. Yassen would have done it. Just to try to make Alex see... He swallowed dryly, had to try twice to make his voice heard over his sore throat. "I get it, you know?"

The Russian's brow furrowed but he didn't answer, just waited.

"I know that I've been lucky so far," he continued haltingly. "And that my luck's going to run out sooner or later. But what do you want me to do?"

"You could leave," Yassen suggested quietly, his voice surprisingly calm, soothing.

"And go where? With whom?" he asked right back, knowing there was no possible answer to that. He shook his head, mind flashing back to another question that had been asked today. "You wanted to know if there's anyone besides MI6 to take over my guardianship."

The Russian nodded once, his frown deepening. Alex wondered whether Yassen regretted the chain of events that had led to this moment. Wondered if that even mattered.

"There's only Jack. She was our housekeeper, now she's my acting guardian. But the way I understood it MI6 can take that away as easily as they assigned it." And if he was honest with himself he didn't want to ask Jack. She was involved enough as it was, he couldn't bring even more trouble down on her head.

"She's the only one I have and she can't get me out of this. I _wish_ she could but she can't. They're not going to let me go, I told you they've got too much blackmail on me, it doesn't matter what I want or do or..." He ran out of words, shook his head. It didn't matter how much he knew of the world and all its monsters masquerading as people. It wasn't him being naive or too stubborn to take an uncomfortable option that was the problem, it was the simple fact that he _couldn't run._ And Yassen could scare him as much as he wanted and that still wouldn't change.

The Russian's voice broke into this thoughts, his words careful, almost hesitant, "As far as I know there is someone who could have the means to get you away from your...employers. Have you ever met your godfather?"

Knowing his face showed his surprise, Alex wondered just how much the man knew about him. He himself had only found out about his godfather a couple of weeks ago. "You mean Ash."

"Yes," Yassen confirmed. "He should be able to help you."

"Unlikely," the teen stated blankly. "He's dead."

Apparently, that was complete news to the assassin. The line between Yassen's brows deepened, the beginnings of dismay starting to show themselves on his face. "That is unfortunate."

Alex shook his head, a bitter twist to his mouth as he thought of the man. "That's good riddance, you mean."

His reaction had surprised, even startled the Russian. "Explain," he demanded.

Letting his breath out in a long sigh Alex let his head tip back so that it rested against the wall, his eyes directed up at the ceiling. Should he explain? About Ash, his father, Mdina, everything? That was why he had come here, wasn't it? The reason he had asked for a way to contact Yassen, back at that party.

He had waited, hesitated, this long because he'd been afraid of the way the assassin would react but really, what was the worst he could do? Hit Alex? Kill him? Frankly, Alex just didn't care anymore. Maybe any other day he would have, but today, right now... no. He caught Yassen's gaze from beneath his lashes.

"After what you told me I searched for Scorpia. I found them. Joined them for a while." That was a good beginning, wasn't it? The assassin seemed to think so, from the way his eyes narrowed with interest. "It ended with them trying to kill me along with a couple thousand other kids in England. They failed. Julia Rothman died, I got shot. You've seen the scar." He paused for a moment, tried to bring the facts into some kind of order.

"My father was a double agent. That's why Scorpia tried to kill me. The whole thing was a deep cover mission, he never stopped working for MI6. Mdina was a set-up and Albert Bridge a fake." He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Yassen was staring at him, eyes sharp and face blank. He didn't believe Alex. "After Albert Bridge my dad wanted out. He quit working for MI6 and wanted to start over with my mother and me in France. Ash sold him out to Scorpia because the mess in Mdina had gotten him demoted. It was Ash who blew up the plane they were on. I wasn't there 'cause I had an ear infection and couldn't travel."

He stopped and found that he couldn't go on. He'd never tried to explain before, never had to say it out loud. Alex closed his eyes and tried to breathe past the heavy weight lodged in his chest.

But even so he could still feel Yassen's stare burning into him.

"Who told you that?" The man's voice was eerily calm.

Alex shrugged, shook his head. "Julia Rothman. Mrs. Jones. James Adair. Blunt. Winston Yu. Ash himself. Different parts of the story from different people until I had it all together."

He made himself look at Yassen again. The man was pale, his expression frozen in blankness, but his eyes... He didn't want to believe Alex. He didn't want it to be true. The teen understood the feeling very well.

Slowly, the Russian stated, "You... are sure of this." To Alex, it sounded more like a plea for him to admit that it was all just some mad theory he had cobbled together himself.

He nodded once, tried to convey with his expression how very serious he was about this. "It's true. Ash himself told me he killed them shortly before he died. He also sold me out to Scorpia and would have happily let them harvest me for organs." He grimaced briefly. "It's too big and too many people have tried to hide it for it to be a lie. My father was an MI6 agent."

[_John lied to you._]

For the first time Yassen looked away from him, stared at the floor to his feet. Alex wished he had some idea about what the man was thinking, how he was taking all this, but it was as if a wall had risen up out of nowhere and he was as clueless and unable to get the slightest hint as the first time they'd met. It left him feeling cold.

The worst thing about it all was that if John had really been as important to Yassen as it appeared then he could actually imagine some of what the Russian had to be going through at the moment. The hurt, the disbelief, the desperate search for an explanation, _any _explanation that meant you hadn't _really _been deceived by someone so important to you. And the helplessness when you realized that it didn't matter whether you were angry, confused or hurt, that the person those feelings were directed at was _gone _and despite being betrayed that was _still _worse than everything else. It was unfair, left you reeling, doubting how much between you had ever been real.

[_Ian._]

Alex made himself look away from the man's face and focused on the little glimpse of blue sky he could see past the mostly-drawn curtains. He had hated how the people around him had stared at him during moments like this; as if they were only waiting for him to break down crying or start an angry rant or something. As if he'd ever give them the satisfaction.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Yassen moving. He was standing up out of his crouch, slowly, as if a weight was pushing down on his shoulders. Alex was careful not to glance at his face; if the Russian had decided that anger was his response of choice and the teen a good target to take it out on then he didn't want to know for as long as possible.

But Yassen did nothing of the sort; just stood there, still as a statue, and Alex knew the man was watching him. What did he want? Was he expecting some kind of reaction from the teen, an apology, an explanation? Alex had nothing.

A long tense minute passed in silence. Then Yassen turned away and left; the room, a moment later the flat, probably the building. Maybe he'd even leave the city.

Alex continued watching the little gap between curtains and wall. The sky outside was blue.


	39. Dreams

**Author's Note:** I'm currently without internet, this is just a lucky break using my neighbours computer 'cause he's on vacation and we're house-sitting. That aside, thanks for all the nice comments and have fun analysing this chapter. I'm curious to see what you'll make of it. (And btw: No, this story still isn't abandoned.)

Summary: What he wants, what he believes, what he _is_... It's all such a mess.

Date: Jan. 7th, between _Precious Treasure_ and _Flowers _(Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

* * *

39. _Dreams_

* * *

He'd always liked the sound billiard balls made when they hit each other. Sometimes he spent the whole evening on the couch in their basement and listened to it while Ian played game after game against himself. It had taken forever for Alex to finally grow tall enough to be able to learn to play too, and then he could never win against his uncle; not a single time.

"Alex?"

He opened his eyes but didn't move from his spot on the couch. It was warm, comfortable. The overhead light of the table was a bright cone through the dimness of the room, putting everything in stark contrast. Ian was bathed in light from the shoulders downwards, but Alex couldn't make out his face.

"Hmm?"

Ian was twirling the cue in his left hand, the motion slow and controlled. It should have looked silly and sometimes Alex had laughed at Ian when he started doing it without even realizing, but down here, with the thin stick cutting through the light, his uncle's habit held an air of menace.

"I have to leave for a while. I'll be back soon."

What? No. No, Alex didn't want that. He tried to sit up, struggled against the heavy blanket on top of him. "Wait!"

But Ian was already turning away, leaving the cone of light and walking into the shadows. By the time Alex had his feet on the floor it was already too late; Ian was gone.

Gone where? There weren't any other exits but the stairs leading up in this room and Alex was sure his uncle had gone somewhere else. Confused and feeling like he should follow Ian, he got up and stepped around the billiard table. It became colder the farther away from the couch he got. Maybe he should take the blanket with him? But no, he had to find Ian. He had to warn him. It was important.

He found that he could see much better once he had turned his back to the single light in the room. The darkness didn't seem quite so dark, or maybe the light just didn't blind him anymore. There was the corner table with a bench and a couple of chairs, a few shelves with books and knick-knacks. The door to the walk-in closet Ian kept his exercising mats in was open a little gap. Strange. Usually it was locked. Was this where his uncle had vanished to?

His fingertips barely touched the door before it swung wide open, but there were no exercising mats or any of the other gear. A corridor, straight and narrow, going on and on and on. It was pitch black where he stood, he couldn't even see the walls, but he knew they were there. What gave him hope though, what made him take a step over the threshold was the glimmer of light flickering on and off in the distance. It had to be Ian. His uncle always carried a little flashlight with him, so that was him up ahead. All Alex had to do was catch up.

He started walking and the blackness swallowed him up easily, eagerly. There was no up or down, no ceiling above his head and no floor beneath his feet. Just his heartbeat, his breath, and the light in the distance. But it was okay. He just had to get there and it would be okay. Ian wasn't moving away, he was waiting for him, and once Alex reached his uncle he'd turn on the light and come back with him. Ian still had to finish his game, after all.

His footsteps started to echo when he sped up and he winced, thought about taking off his shoes to minimize the sound. He knew they could hear him, but speed was more important than stealth. He had to reach Ian, the sooner the better. If he stayed here too long...

A second set of footsteps picked up, the sound mingling and mixing with his own. They'd heard him and now they were coming, but it was okay. The light wasn't too far off now, and once he reached Ian they could go home. It was okay. He started running.

The corridor began to light up and he could make out the walls around him. They were close, closer than he had thought and here and there were pictures. He didn't care to look at them, instead kept his eyes trained on the light before him. It cut through the darkness, a clean line dividing black and white; he couldn't wait to get there. The person following him was moving faster, he could hear them catching up to him even as he ran, but he didn't worry. He was almost there now, only twenty more steps, ten, five, three, two, one...

He crossed the line and stopped short.

Where was Ian? He was supposed to be here. There was the corridor, stretching on and on before him, suffused in a cold, weak light. There was the blackness behind him and a picture on the wall. [_It shows a burst window, a torn seat with dark stains, but he doesn't know that because he doesn't look at it_.] There was a flashlight on the floor, flickering on and off, about to die. No Ian. He turned around himself, looked everywhere again. Maybe he'd just missed the man on his first sweep. Corridor, blackness, picture, flashlight. Nothing. Ian wasn't here.

He stared at the flickering flashlight, worry beginning to creep up in him. He should go back. He wasn't supposed to be here. Except there was someone behind him and they were coming closer, closer, closer while he just stood there and he should run away. Whereto, though? There was only one path ahead and the light was too dim, too grey to see where it was leading. What if it was a dead end? If you're running away always make sure it's not a dead end, that's what Ian had told him. He couldn't make sure this time and he couldn't go back.

Okay, so he had to keep moving. He could do that. At least there was a little light, even though it wasn't nearly as bright as it had seemed from farther away. He started walking again, and then, when the other footsteps echoed in his ears, he sped up to a jog. It would be alright. They hadn't caught him so far and he'd just keep moving. All he had to do was keep running straight, even though that got difficult when the hallway started to twist and bend around corners and curves. It was weird, ahead of him the path always looked straight, but with each step he took everything changed and he had to be careful not to run into any walls suddenly rising up right in front of him.

And no matter how fast he ran, the footsteps were always catching up.

What if he wasn't fast enough? What if they caught him? The worry started to morph into fear and his heartbeat thundered in his ears, louder and louder, until it started to drown out the clattering of footsteps. They were going to catch him, weren't they? They were going to catch him and hurt him and he'd never get out of this maze ever again. Oh god, he should have listened to Jack and just told them no this time. He should have done something, anything.

There was ice underneath his feet, turning each and every single step into a slick trap. He almost fell several times and had to slow down. If he hit the ground he knew he'd never get up again, but at the same time he was barely moving forward at all and they were still catching up, each step slow and sure, like a predator closing in on its prey. They didn't even need to hurry anymore.

Was this it? Was it finally going to be over? All he'd ever wanted was to get Ian back. Was that really too much to ask?

[_dark stains on a torn seat_]

Suddenly his foot hit only empty air instead of solid ground and he gasped, stumbled, fell. The freezing water hit him like a punch to the gut. What the-! His eyes opened wide but it didn't change the pitch black darkness around him, the undertow dragging him down deeper and deeper. He needed to get back up to the surface, he needed to breathe, but he couldn't even move, couldn't think past the horrible cold biting into his skin, his flesh, down to his very bones. It was cold, so cold, _so cold. _

"Shh, it's okay, you're okay, you're going to be alright..."

He gasped and thought he could taste the water [_mud, garbage, ice_], but what he choked on was only air. He coughed roughly, his body trying to bend with the motion, and a firm arm around his chest prevented it. Again, there was that voice.

"You'll be fine, deep breaths, come on, Alex."

He thought he should recognize the voice but his head was too fuzzy, everything far too achy and he was still so cold. He shivered and pressed back into the warmth at his back, tried to leech as much of it as possible into himself. He had to get warm, had to get up, had to run. They were still coming after him, weren't they? If he stayed here they'd find him in no time at all and then what was he going to do?

He must have said something because suddenly the voice at his back answered, "It's okay, don't worry, nobody will find you here. They can't get you here."

They... couldn't? Wait, he'd gone with Yassen, of course they wouldn't find him. Yassen wouldn't have taken him to this flat if anyone knew about it. Which meant that he really could relax for once; it was going to be okay. No running, no hiding, no waiting for the next phone call to turn his life upside down.

He sighed and smiled into his pillow, relishing the warm weight at his back and the fact that he could lie here for however long he wanted. He smiled even wider when instead of that arm just holding him, fingertips started to wander over his skin, the shadow of a touch. He wanted to return the touch, but if he moved... no, better to stay still. There were lips sliding over his shoulder, warm breath brushing against his neck and he shivered, getting goosebumps on his arms even though he was anything but cold. A low chuckle, and that sound alone was enough to make him flush all over. He knew Yassen was smiling, that barely-there upturn of his lips, the crinkle in the corner of his eyes and he wanted to see, needed to see it to believe it...

Except when he turned around he was sitting on a bench in a park and Yassen wasn't smiling, wasn't even looking at him. [_Or he wasn't looking at Yassen?_]

"Alex. I... am sorry about your-"

What? No. No, no, no, "NO!"

He jerked awake with a gasp, his eyes blinking rapidly against the weak light of dawn drawing shadows on his ceiling. His ceiling. Right. He was home. Had been for a couple of days.

With an explosive sigh he fell back into his pillow and closed his eyes, one of his hands pressing down on his chest as if trying to push the confusing wisps of dream-memory right out of him. It didn't work, and failed spectacularly at calming down his racing heartbeat besides.


End file.
